Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
“You look nice tonight.” His blue eyes crinkle as he leans across the console to greet me with a spearmint gum–laced kiss, his lips lingering longer than usual. The first time he kissed me, it was at my porch door at the end of our first date, and he asked beforehand. Since then, he’s grown bolder, and the lip locks have lasted longer. And I’ve been willing.
Now, though, I pull away.
“Hard day?” Steve deftly navigates his truck along my driveway and out to the road.
“Long day.” Spent lost in conflicted thoughts, battling the urge to cancel this date. I should have canceled, but then I’d be sitting at home, battling the urge to show up at the Ale House. I unfurl the knit scarf from around my neck. The truck is warm, and the drive to Talkeetna is almost an hour from my place. I may as well get comfortable.
“So … plans have changed,” he announces. “A bunch of my friends are meeting up in Trapper’s Crossing. There’s a big wing night happening out there, and I think it’ll be a good time. Plus, it’s a lot closer, and I’ve been up since four. I’m beat.” Steve reaches over to collect my hand. His skin is calloused, his thumb wrapped in a bandage to hide a gnarly cut—one that should have seen stitches. “You’re good with that, right?”
My stomach sinks. There’s only one place in Trapper’s Crossing he could be talking about. Am I good with showing up on one man’s arm while the man who’s dominating my thoughts sits across the room? No, of course I’m not good with this! But what am I supposed to say? What excuse do I give that doesn’t trigger questions?
“Marie?” Steve’s gaze darts between the road and me, his hand giving mine a squeeze.
“Yeah.” I clear the strain from my voice. “I’m good.”
If I’m lucky, maybe Tyler will have changed his mind about coming.
* * *
The blazing firepit to the right of the Ale House’s front entrance is new, and a popular addition judging by the ring of people huddled around it, savoring pints. Above them, festive strands of colorful Christmas lights hang in the canopy. They match the ones lining the long, narrow building’s roof that Muriel keeps up year round.
I try to be inconspicuous in my scan of the parking lot as we walk toward the hum of casual conversation. But it’s dark, and there are several green trucks. I don’t see any familiar ones.
“You’ve been here before, right?” Steve loops his arm around my waist, and I try not to stiffen. “It’s a good place. Fun atmosphere. And Muriel and Teddy have owned it forever.”
“You know them? Wait, of course you would.” It only makes sense. They’re all in the fishing industry.
I catch a familiar, deep laugh a moment before a bellow of “Marie!” carries. I couldn’t see Jonah standing among the group before, with it being dark and me wrapped in growing dread. But there he is, Calla beside him. His presence is a life preserver thrown into deep waters, and some of the tension slips from my shoulders.
I check the other people in the circle. Some, I recognize. Locals who always make it out for the McGivneys’ more festive nights. None are Tyler or Reed.
Maybe I’ve lucked out tonight.
I turn to Steve. “I’ll meet you inside?”
A funny look skitters across his face, but it’s quickly gone. “Sure. I’ll grab you a beer.” He kisses my cheek and then diverts his path.
And all I can think about is how that kiss doesn’t stir an ounce of the desire that Tyler’s bristly cheek pressed against mine earlier today did.
Jonah ropes his free arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a side hug. “I thought you weren’t comin’ tonight.”
“Yeah, neither did I, but plans changed.”
He watches Steve slip through the door. “Who’s that guy?”
I smile at the wariness in his voice. “Just a guy.” That maybe I should have introduced to my best friend. I nod toward the rectangular structure and the propane-fueled flames that dance over its surface. “This is fancy.”
The diversion works. “Yeah. This was Calla’s brainchild. Muriel actually listened.”
I shift over to offer her a hug. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good! This trimester is way easier.”
“Show her,” Jonah goads, holding open Calla’s coat.
I bark with laughter at her sweatshirt and the “future yeti” slogan printed across her adorable pregnant belly. “Did you change your mind about finding out what it is?”
Jonah’s firm head shake answers that.
Calla rolls her eyes at him and then shifts away, her rapt attention on me. “So, just a guy?”
“We’ve been on a few dates.” I shrug. “He’s nice.”
She lowers her voice to a whisper, “In case you care, Tyler’s inside.”
Nerves flutter in my stomach just hearing his name. “I knew he might be coming.”