Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Connor nods and the two men smile. I smile back at them, and he says, “That’s Tony and Jamal. They own the bakery.”
“I haven’t been there yet.”
“Best cinnamon twist you’ll ever taste,” he says. “What’s in the container?”
“Normally I would go with packaged cookies or cake. But since I am attempting to impress, you get my homemade cheesy garlic bread.”
“You baked bread?”
“Hell no. But I mixed up the butter, lemon zest, dash of mustard, and whole bulb of garlic that goes on the bread. Along with the shredded cheese, of course. Though that gets sprinkled on afterward. Before it goes in the oven. At any rate, rest assured that you and your family will be safe from vampires and the common cold for at least a week.”
“That’s a relief.” His jaw keeps shifting, and I don’t think it’s because of my mediocre cooking skills. The man is nervous. It’s strange to imagine someone so tall and built being vulnerable. But he’s not made of stone. Of course he has emotions. “We should go.”
“Okay.”
He hesitates again. As if he isn’t quite sure what he should be doing. But then he walks around to the passenger side of the car and opens the door for me like a gentleman. He even waits and closes it once I am safely inside. The interior is meticulously neat and smells faintly of leather and cologne. Some combination of cedar, salt, and him. It’s warm and comforting in a way I wasn’t expecting. There’s a small chance I am nervous too. I so badly want this to work. And for me to win over some locals and make friends.
When he climbs into the car, I say, “Don’t worry. We’ve got this, Connor. Everything is going to be fine.”
But everything is not fine. Fucked would be a better description. A fact that is made obvious within approximately one minute of our arrival.
I clutch my container of cheesy garlic bread to my chest. This scene right here is why I wore shoes I can run in. Just in case. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Not sure there’s anything you can say,” says Connor’s older brother, Stuart. His wife and teenage daughter sit waiting at the dinner table, watching everything with wide eyes. Which gives me hope that this isn’t normal behavior for his mother.
“Should I leave?”
“No,” says Connor adamantly. He stands beside me frowning while his mother wipes away the single tear that has spilled down her cheek. Awkward as fuck. It’s not like people haven’t been indifferent or less than delighted to meet me. But I don’t remember making anyone cry before.
“Sorry.” Denise sniffs. “I promised myself I wouldn’t, but my emotions got the better of me.”
Martha mutters something beneath her breath.
“It’s just that Ava has always been like a daughter to me,” Denise continues with much hand wringing. Someone at the table snorts and hastily tries to cover the sound with a cough. Denise, however, ignores it and bravely carries on. “You’ve been so unhappy since she left, darling. I thought surely with her coming back—”
“No,” says Connor again. “It’s over, Mom. I don’t know how many times I can tell you. She and I are not getting back together.”
Her face falls. You would think he just canceled Christmas. Forever. After pissing on her fully decorated tree.
This was never going to be easy. But I thought at least his family would want to roll with whatever makes him happy. My mistake.
“I can’t believe I am missing poker night for this. Give me that,” says Martha, gesturing for my contribution to dinner. “Take a seat, Riley.”
Connor ushers me forward with one hand to the small of my back while the other holds a pan of cornbread. His contribution to the dinner. We both went with carbs as is good and right. Though I doubt even great food can help tonight.
Martha and Denise share an old brick house on the hill above town. The garden is overflowing with flowers and the inside is neat as a pin, as Mom would say. A terracotta-tiled kitchen opens onto a dining room with cream carpet and a long wooden table just made for big family dinners. Martha adds my cheesy garlic bread to the selection of dishes already on display.
Okeydokey. I take a seat and say, “You have a lovely home.”
“My husband and I bought it when we married. Then he passed, and Denise and the boys had outgrown the place where they were living. So they took the ground floor, and I had the basement turned into an apartment with its own entrance,” says Martha. “It’s worked out well for the most part.”
Stuart leans in and says, “Just let me know when you’re ready to start hearing all the embarrassing childhood stories about Connor. I’ve got you covered, Riley.”
“Thanks.” I give him a thumbs up. “I appreciate that, Stuart.”