Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Nothing.
Sunday was my birthday. I woke up early, jogged from my apartment on Dalton Street over to the Public Garden and Boston Common, logged five miles on the trails, and headed home. After a quick shower, I got dressed and drank a cup of coffee while standing at the counter checking emails, scanning the news, and returning texts from family and friends wishing me happy birthday.
There was one from my dad, my oldest brother Austin and both his kids—they loved texting me from their iPads—and my sister Mabel, who was in graduate school at William and Mary. My brother Dash was an actor out in L.A. and probably not up yet, and my brother Xander had likely forgotten, given how much he had going on. After a stint as a Navy SEAL, he’d worked private security for a few years, and now he was opening a bar back home. But he’d gotten sidetracked when an old friend had roped him into providing security for his country music star sister, who was staying in a cabin not too far from Cherry Tree Harbor. They’d been at The Broken Spoke over the weekend too, and it was obvious something was going on between them, even though he’d tried hard to deny it.
At quarter to ten, I packed a lunch, threw a Red Sox cap on my head, and headed over to the meeting spot for today’s Camp Lemonade excursion—a trip to the Charles River Bike Trails, where a guide would take us on a hike, after which we’d have a picnic.
When the kids heard it was my birthday, they sang a loud, off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday” on the bus and had fun guessing my age—I heard numbers from nineteen to fifty-five. After the hike, the kids wanted to race me, and I must have run twenty-seven different footraces, giving each of them a chance to “beat” me.
On the bus ride back to the city, I was typing a text to Lexi when a little girl named Sara came up and pointed at the empty seat next to me. “Can I sit here?”
“Sure,” I said, giving her a smile. She was maybe eight or nine, an adorable little thing with two blond braids and big brown eyes who loved asking me for piggyback rides. She’d lost her dad two years ago.
She climbed onto the seat and held out her closed fist. “I have a birthday present for you.”
“You do?” I shifted to face her. “What is it?”
Turning her hand over, she opened her palm, revealing a colorful beaded bracelet that spelled out FEARLESS. She had about fifteen of them going up her arm. “It’s a friendship bracelet. It’s one of mine, but I want you to have it.”
Touched, I slipped it onto my wrist. It barely fit and looked ridiculous, but I held out my arm to show it off. “How does it look?”
She grinned. “Great. It says fearless because that’s one of my favorite Taylor Swift songs.”
“What’s it about?”
She thought for a moment. “It’s about not being afraid to dance in a storm in a nice dress.”
I nodded. “I’ll remember that.”
She noticed my phone in my lap. “What are you doing? Playing a game?”
“No, I’m sending someone a message.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“No. I don’t have a girlfriend. Actually, this person doesn’t like me at all right now.” I paused. “But believe me, she liked me just fine a week ago.”
“Why doesn’t she like you anymore?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Grownups always say that. But I bet it’s not that complicated.”
I laughed in surprise. “You’re right. It’s not. She doesn’t like me because she doesn’t trust me. She doesn’t think I’m a nice person.”
“Did you do something wrong?”
“Not on purpose,” I hedged.
“Just say you’re sorry anyway.”
“I tried that. She won’t believe me.”
“Will she believe me?”
I looked at her. “Maybe. You want to try?”
“Sure.” Grinning, she took my phone. “What’s her name?”
“Lexi. It’s short for Alexandra. L-E-X-I.”
The tip of her tongue appeared between her teeth as she concentrated on typing. “How do you spell Devlin?”
“D-E-V-L-I-N.”
A moment later she asked, “How do you spell piggyback?”
I spelled it out for her. When she was done, she handed the phone back to me.
Dear Lexi, my name is Sara. I am 8. Devlin is my friend. He is so nice. He gives us piggyback rides. I am sitting next to him on the bus. He is sorry for what he did. Please believe me. From Sara
“Wow,” I said, warmth spreading in my chest. “This is awesome. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She kicked the seat in front of her and looked pleased. “Did I spell everything right?”
“You sure did. I’m very impressed.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Are you going to send it?”
“Yes. And if she doesn’t like me after that, there’s no justice in the world.”
Sara grinned, and I hit send.
Two minutes later, I had a reply.