Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
My parents, wrapped in matching white robes, laugh.
When I make eye contact with my mom, she smirks.
Oh god … she heard.
“I just asked your mom and dad where they get their protein.”
My dad winks at me while drinking what looks like a large glass of celery juice.
“Yeah. I’m sure you were.” I rest my hand on his leg and lean in to kiss him.
Excitement radiates from my parents. I love that they’re so happy for us and not upset that we were a bit loud last night.
“I think I’m going to show Koen around town today since I want to run a few errands,” I announce, reaching for the cup of tea Mom made for me.
“Sorry. I already invited him to work with me. I have a new growing medium I want to show him.” Dad eyes me like he’s called dibs.
Koen shrugs. “Sorry, babe. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Fine,” I fake grumble. “What about you, Mom?”
“Sorry, love. I have a consult in an hour. Maybe we can meet for lunch? In fact,” she glances at her watch, “I need to get dressed and get going. Why don’t you drop me off, and then you can use my car today.”
“Sounds great.” I give Koen one last kiss. “Don’t have too much fun playing in the dirt with my dad.”
He winks.
“If I can shift a few things in my schedule this afternoon, we can pop into a few bridal stores,” Mom suggests, rinsing her glass at the sink.
Koen beams. There’s no other word.
I return a smile that mirrors his. “I’d love that.”
After I drop my mom off at work, curiosity leads me back to my favorite apothecary. I’m surprised it stayed open after so much economic uncertainty over the past ten years.
“Can I help you with anything?” a woman with brown skin, blonde dreads, and gold ear gauges asks while she waters the plants.
“I’m just checking things out. I used to work here.”
“Oh, really? How long ago was that? I’ve been managing it for seven years.”
“Twelve years ago. Do the Kettlemans still own it? Margaret gave me my first job here. I was sixteen.” I twist the cap off one of the tester bottles and wave it under my nose.
“No. They sold it. The new owner hired me to manage it. I pretty much do everything.”
I chuckle. “I know how you feel.”
“I don’t mind. I make twice as much as I did at my last job.” She slides the stepladder a few feet to the right. “Do you still live around here?”
“No. I live in Austin.” I admire the propagation wall. “Do you go to tradeshows with the new owner? I got to go to one with Margaret. It was so much fun.”
She laughs. “Mr. Milloy doesn’t go to tradeshows. I see him in person once or twice a year, is all.”
I slowly turn toward her. “Mr. Milloy?”
She climbs down and sets the watering can behind the counter. “Yes.”
With a hard swallow, I offer a nervous smile. “Price Milloy?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
Why does everything about that man make my heart ache? A good ache. A bad ache. And everything in between.
“I uh … yeah. I know him. Knew him.”
“I don’t know him that well, but he’s been very generous to me. Edward Goff, who owns the coffee shop across the street, said he’s a successful banker or some sort of investment guy. And his wife’s with a big advertising firm. But you probably know that.”
I narrow my eyes. “Edward’s wife?”
“No. Mr. Milloy’s.”
By the time I make it to my mom’s car, I can barely catch my breath. Did I even say goodbye to the woman at the store?
Price is married.
No. Was married.
There’s no way he’s married now. A married man doesn’t receive a cancer diagnosis and leave his wife to find his first love.
Why?
Why would he not tell me about her? It’s been twelve years. I never expected him to remain single, even though I did.
Finding an address for Price Milloy in Rittenhouse Square doesn't take long. I check the time. I have an hour and a half before picking up my mom for lunch—plenty of time to drive by his place.
When I get there, I can’t resist parking down the street and walking to the entrance. He’s living in Austin. Surely, he sold this residence. Yet, I can’t walk away until I know for sure.
I press the security buzzer to the high-class condo. Seconds later, a woman answers softly, “Yes?”
“Uh, hi. I’m looking for Price Milloy.”
Nothing.
Maybe the speaker’s broken.
“I’m sorry. He’s unavailable.”
“Oh. I’m an … I’m an old friend visiting my family here for the next day or two, and I thought I’d surprise him. Are you his wife?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know when he’ll be home?”
Another long pause.
Then I hear what sounds like a sniffle.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
Again, she sniffles. “I’m sorry. He’s not here. And I have to go get our daughter and take her to an appointment soon.”