Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
I added, “The only thing that’s incredibly clear is that whatever the reason, the Mitchells definitely hated the O’Ralleys, and each generation has for almost a hundred years.”
“I think this might be the coolest thing that’s ever happened to us.”
I cocked a brow at him. “Us, huh?”
“Yes. I’m your best friend, your almost-brother, whom you dragged across the country with you. I’d say we’re a team.” He was right, of course. Isaac and I were always a team, a package deal. I was the only family Isaac had, and I loved him like he was blood. “And I hate to break this up, but I’m about to go all gayzilla on your ass if we don’t get some coffee, STAT.”
“There is none.” I’d almost lost my shit when I realized that. Since Byron kept everything on, I’d assumed there would be food, or at least coffee.
“Blasphemy!” Isaac shoved to his feet. “I’ll get dressed. We’ll hit up Starbucks and then find breakfast.”
“I doubt there’s a Starbucks.”
His blue eyes widened. “What in the hell is wrong with this town?”
“See? That’s what I tried to say last night.” Though I was starting to feel like I was more determined to stick around than I originally planned. I was really curious about the whole past with the distilleries and the feud. Plus, learning to run a distillery could be a cool project and—No. What in the hell was I thinking, opening a business in Buckridge?
“You’re doing that thing where you have entire conversations with yourself in your head. Yes, you’re going to decide you want to open this place back up to prove something to yourself and probably your bio-dad. If we’re being honest, I’ll probably help you. It’s not like I have anything in San Francisco that matters if you’re not there. Now can we go get coffee?”
Sometimes it sucked how well Isaac knew me. “Fuck off. That’s not what I’d been thinking.” Even though it obviously was. “And I don’t need to prove anything to him. Plus, I can’t. He’s dead. Even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t want to prove anything to him.”
“Great. Sounds good. Keep lying to yourself. Coffee.” With that, Isaac walked out of the room and back upstairs. I really hated my best friend.
I followed him up and went to the other spare room, where I’d left my bag last night. I wasn’t sleeping in the master. That felt…weird, sleeping in the room of my father who’d wanted nothing to do with me until he died.
I grabbed my shit and made sure to take a really long shower, rubbing one out while I was there, because just like Isaac knew how to annoy the shit out of me, I knew how to annoy the shit out of him.
I pulled on a pair of nice jeans, a button-up, short-sleeved shirt, brushed my teeth, ran my hand through my hair a few times, and I was ready to go.
I didn’t see Isaac as I went through the downstairs. It was an older house—dark wood, hardwood floors, lots and lots of brown. There was even a fucking deer head on the wall in the living room, which would sure as shit have to go.
I would definitely need to give this place some color, well, if I was staying, which I wasn’t.
I looked out the window to see Isaac leaning against the car. He had his Aviators on, arms crossed, and wore a polo with beige shorts. Because we didn’t stand out—at all.
He tapped his foot when I went out. “You suck. I’m hungry, and I need caffeine. You took forever on purpose.”
“Then I guess you better be nice to me now, huh?”
He flipped me off. “How many acres is this place again?” he asked as we climbed into the car.
“Twenty-five or some shit. It’s crazy. Who needs that much land?”
Though it really was gorgeous. The house sat back at the end of a long, tree-lined driveway. Once you got to the house, it was like everything opened up and you weren’t boxed in with trees anymore, just wide-open space, lots of green and rolling hills. If you followed the drive past the house, the distillery was out that way, though I wasn’t sure how far as I hadn’t been out there yet. It had been too late last night.
Isaac said, “Let’s find somewhere really greasy for breakfast. Like those diners in the movies with small towns. We’ll get a waitress named Bea, and she’ll wear a little hat and a matching apron. The coffee will be shit, but the grease will be awesome.”
I didn’t know anyone who could eat as much as Isaac and never gain a pound, the fucker. “You sure have a whole lot of stereotypes in your head.”
“Like you don’t?” he countered.
Okay, maybe I did.
I put the directions for Main Street into my phone. Both of ours suddenly had a signal on the drive back to Mitchell Creek last night. I was beginning to think there was something plotting against me or something that had made me end up at the weird queer hoedown. Not that I was complaining after that kiss, but everything else had been fucked up.