Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Can I come by and pick you up?”
“I can’t tonight. I’m busy.”
“Doin’ what?” He doesn’t sound put out, just curious.
Voices drift in from the living room. “I for one would have appreciated a little bit more fondling—”
“Book club,” I answer, wondering how much he can hear.
“You’ve been allowed in? Heard that’s the hottest ticket in town. My aunt’s been trying to join since the ’70s.”
I laugh. “I’ve been granted temporary privileges only. Don’t tell your aunt. Anyway, aren’t you sick of me after last night?”
“No. And well…not gonna lie, I was sort of hoping there’d be a few extra cookies lying around that house…”
I grin. “Sorry to say they sold out this morning.”
“All right, I’ll take you as a consolation prize.”
I flush from head to toe and turn my back toward the living room just in case anyone’s looking in at me.
“I really can’t tonight.”
“Is my grandma there?”
“Yes, and she brought her pigs in a blanket.”
He groans. “Come let me in.”
“You’re here?!”
DING DONG.
“Now if that’s Marie Claire again, I’m not above using some foul language to get our point across,” Laura says.
I walk into the living room with the phone still pressed to my ear and tell the group, “That won’t be necessary. It’s just your grandson, Lolly.”
I continue into the foyer and open the front door to find Sawyer standing on the other side, phone still pressed to his ear as well.
He smiles a devastating smile. “Hey there.”
I shake my head and end the call. “You’re about to get your butt chewed out. You should have seen what they did to a woman who tried to barge in earlier.”
“Sawyer!” Lolly calls from behind us, pure elation evident in her voice. “Come on in, hun. I have your favorite pigs in a blanket over here.”
Sawyer steps inside and smirks down at me. His expression seems to say, What? Like it’s hard to get into book club?
The group’s discussion of His Glory Ride is completely derailed by the presence of Sawyer. I stand back and watch as they fawn all over him like he’s God’s gift to earth. They ruffle his hair, pinch his cheeks—the works.
“So handsome!”
“So tall!”
“And look at those dimples!”
Queenie gets him a glass of cold iced tea as Pamela starts loading up a paper plate for him.
“I’m really not hungry. Just came from dinner,” he protests, though in the end he accepts the plate and offers a hearty thanks.
“He was just with Crawford. Such a dutiful grandson. Takes him out to eat once a week,” Lolly brags to the ladies before turning back to Sawyer. “What are you doing here though? I don’t need a ride home for another few hours.”
He peers over at me, almost shyly. No. Not possible. This man cannot be shy. “Came to see Madison, actually.”
The group—hearing this juicy piece of gossip—whips their heads in my direction. I blush and give a guilty little wave, like yes, that’s me. I’m the Madison he’s referring to.
I’m surprised by their slack-jawed expressions; I figured word had already spread through town that Sawyer and I are dating. After all, a few of these women were at The Black Door last night, only a few tables away from where we were eating.
“I told you that was them last night!” Laura exclaims, pointing a finger at Pamela. “We couldn’t be sure. We were a few chardonnays in and neither one of us remembered our glasses…”
“Wait,” Paulette Dougherty says, shaking her head. “I thought you were engaged, Madison. To that man from Alabama. Matthew something, wasn’t it?”
Within a fraction of a second, the group goes deathly quiet. There are a few awkward coughs. Lolly furrows her brows at me, expecting an answer and fast.
“I was,” I say with a small smile, trying to make sure Paulette doesn’t feel bad for bringing up the subject. “Not anymore.”
“Now she’s busy turning me down,” Sawyer adds, and I’m grateful for the quick subject change. “I tried to get her to sneak away with me tonight, but she wanted to be here for book club.”
The women give me approving nods as if they too would turn down a date with Sawyer Garnett, the town’s golden boy, for a chance to be included in this ultra-exclusive club.
“You all could spare her for a little while though, right?” Before they can respond with protests or approvals, he carries his plate and his iced tea toward me and nods toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s go out on the porch and let them get back to it in here. Hate to interrupt.”
I don’t see any reason to argue; I like sitting on my mom’s back porch, especially in summer time. If you can get past the heat—usually there’s at least a decent breeze—it’s worth it for the ambiance. Jasmine scents the air, so pungent and sweet. The porch overlooks a sloping backyard filled with cedar trees and two stately live oaks that compete for attention in the center of the lawn. David and I used to climb up one and then leap across to the other. It’s how he broke his arm in the third grade.