Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
There’s also been rainbows and laughter, sunshine and ladder holding, jokes and tears, lawyer trips, chicken up in the tree, sleeping in the barn, and unexpected kisses. And Nina. So, so much Nina.
“That car you sent in? We got the parts early and got her all put back together. She’s running as good as new.”
“So it’s ready to go?” I sound normal. Blank. The way I sound every single day. I sound that way to my own ears, so I likely sound that way to John too.
“Anytime.”
Does anytime mean I can wait a few days? That I can just not tell Nina and bring her to Upperhand to get her car when I expected that I would? No, it would be wrong. It would feel like I’m keeping a secret from her. It would be dishonest.
If she wants to stay, she’ll tell me. The most important part is that she has a choice, so I’ll tell her that her car is done and let her decide.
You should be driving her there, metal to the freaking metal, shouting hoots of joy out the window because you can’t wait to be rid of her.
Well, whatever I should be doing or thought I’d be doing, I don’t feel like doing it now.
“Thanks. We should be in sometime today. If not, definitely tomorrow.”
“Sounds great. You take care, Thaddius.”
“You too, John.”
Hanging up feels like a batch of sheep cheese gone wrong, all my hard work and all that milk wasted. It feels like sourness in the pit of my stomach, disappointment, and acid at the back of my throat. A few days ago, I would have said this moment would be one filled with elation. But that was before. Before I got to know Nina. And before she became more than a contract.
Heading toward the house feels like my shoes are dragging through waist-deep muck. Soul-sucking muck.
I realize the level of drama my body is producing about this is over the top. I also realize that my mind is on board. We’re not in disagreement here. It’s not my body being a traitor because Nina kissed me. Because I kissed her back. Or because we did more than that, and it was the most wonderful physical experience of my life to date. My mind sure isn’t giving me a list that starts with, sure, that was nice, but… There are no buts. My mind is telling me this sucks. And my body agrees.
I walk through the front door, ready to blurt out the news that will send Nina on her way back to her family, back to her life, and away from here, when she flies at the front door from the living room. She’s wearing the clown shirt again, tucked into a pair of vintage-looking brown pleather pants, and her hair is up in a messy bun. She stops me in my tracks, not because she bounces over to me and throws her arms around me, but because she’s breathtaking.
Yes, clown included. I can’t even bring myself to detest it anymore.
“Oh my god! I just found that board game you keep on the shelf in the office. I didn’t realize there was a whole bottom shelf full of them, and I swear I wasn’t snooping. I was just looking for a book that wasn’t about math and science, and this game looked awesome! I opened it up, and it’s all little pieces, and you have to make patterns, which is pretty cool. You’re probably insanely good at it because you’re all about math and science, and I’m just…uh, not, but I’d love to play it anyway and….” She finally stops to take a breath, and then she gets a good look at my face. “What happened? Oh no. Don’t tell me there is a chicken stuck in the tree again. Or a sheep on the barn roof. Or…or that Herman Merman is wedged somewhere where he shouldn’t be or has packed his donkey bags and escaped for the last time, leaving home to become a wandering hobo donkey that spreads love and kindness wherever he goes. As nice as that would be, you’d miss him.”
That last bit almost makes me smile. Only Nina will say something like that. Only Nina will come here straight from the city and get this place. If she chooses to leave, then I want her to think about this place as being magic for her. I want her to remember it years from now. If she can smile when she remembers this place, then that would be great. I don’t want her to have a hurt that lingers and burns and burns.
“Your car is ready.” I’m not subtle. I’m not even gentle. Instead, the words just come out flat.
She blinks at me. Her mouth closes and opens and then purses. She tries to find her smile, and it’s like a knife straight to my gut. “Oh,” she whispers. “I see.”