Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
One night had not been enough.
“Jonathan!” my mother called from the doorway to the dining room when I stepped into the front hall. She was already neatly dressed in a pair of crisp white cropped pants and a sporty sleeveless blouse. “Darling, why aren’t you dressed for golf?”
“Uh.” I frowned down at my running shoes. “Why would I be dressed for golf? I hate golf.”
She blinked, bewildered. “Of course you don’t. You’ve golfed since you were tiny.”
“And I’ve hated it since I was tiny,” I agreed. “Probably had to do with the plaid knickers you used to make us wear.”
“But… the Wellbridge family always golfs the day after the regatta.” She patted my chest lovingly. “Go and get changed.”
“Not this Wellbridge,” I said firmly. “Oh, hey. Do you know what to bring to a potluck?”
Mother’s eyes widened. “A potluck.”
“Yeah. Jace Honeycutt is having one, and everyone is supposed to bring—”
She shook her head so fiercely her blonde bob swayed. “I know what a potluck is. Since when are you going to potlucks at Jace Honeycutt’s house?”
I shrugged. “Since he invited me, and it seems fun.”
“Darling,” she said with strained patience. “We don’t—”
“But I do,” I said, my temper building. Or at least I wanted to start.
For the first time in a long time, my mother looked at me—really looked—like maybe she heard what I was saying and understood the boundary I was drawing. She nodded slowly.
Then she completely ruined it by saying, “Do you suppose Brantleigh would enjoy the potluck? If that’s what you young people are—”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “No. No, I do not think Brantleigh would enjoy a potluck. Brantleigh doesn’t enjoy anything because he’s an entitled ass.”
“Jonathan!” She glanced around the front hall as though Brantleigh—or his father—could appear at any moment… which I supposed they could.
“And while we’re on the subject…” I drew her into the dining room for a modicum of privacy and lowered my voice. “I have several things I’ve been meaning to say to you. Number one: I will not be sent on any more dates. No.” I held up a hand when she opened her mouth to interrupt. “If you and Dad want Thatcher Pennington’s support, one of you can date Brantleigh.”
She pursed her lips. “That wasn’t my only reason for hoping you two would hit it off. Brantleigh is… young,” she said diplomatically. “But he comes from a good family. He’s socially adept and can be quite charming when he tries to be, which could help you with your career. He could be a support for you. A real partner, like your father is to me.”
Had she never had a conversation with Brantleigh?
Not delusional, just Patricia Wellbridge, I reminded myself.
“Mother, I don’t want to date someone because they’re socially adept and charming. I want…” Prickles. Thunder. I cleared my throat. “I don’t know what I want or if I even want anything. I never really imagined myself with a life partner. But I do know that I’ll find him for myself. And,” I added, “he will not be a person you’ve trained to be rude to the Honeycutts.”
“Rude? I would never—”
“You told Brantleigh they were uncivilized social climbers.” Just saying the words made my anger from last night surge again. “For someone who claims there’s no rivalry with the Honeycutts because they’re not worthy of being our rivals, you spend an inordinate amount of time scheming to undermine them, and it needs to stop.”
“Scheming?” Mother clasped a hand to her chest. “Jonathan Turner Wellbridge, you take that back. I would never!”
“And yet you did. Not only with Box Day but by spreading false rumors about the Honeycutts to Brantleigh. One would think you’d see how poorly it reflects on the Wellbridge name when your guests are rude to half the residents of Honeybridge on your say-so.” I raised an eyebrow.
Her mouth opened, then shut again, like she’d honestly never thought of this. She put her nose in the air. “I don’t know what else could possess you to say such a thing. I assume it’s all that jogging. Perhaps if you try some yogaerobics instead.”
I didn’t reply, but I felt the corners of my mouth lift in a smile without conscious thought. Possessed was a good word for the way I felt. Something about Flynn Honeycutt had sunk claws deep inside me, making me feel more grounded and confident than I had since… well, since I’d gotten back to Honeybridge.
“However, because I do care about the Wellbridge reputation, I’ll have a word with Brantleigh,” Mother allowed.
“Good. I’d hate for this to be a subject that’s discussed at next week’s softball game.” I raised an eyebrow threateningly.
“Wait.” Her eyes widened. “Will you be at next week’s game?”
“I… I might. It’s looking that way.” After a brief hesitation, I admitted, “My work for Fortress has hit a snag, and I need to figure out my next steps. It might take some time. And I’m going to stay here while I do.” Because I wanted as much time with Flynn as possible.