Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
He throws me a wave and a smile full of bright, white teeth. I flash a closed-mouth smile in return, not willing to be rude but also not playing Mom’s game.
Mom’s not giving up, though, pointing to where Kyle can put his load down. “Thanks, Kyle. And after that, if you don’t mind, can you start breaking up the dirt? I think we got most of the weeds out, and I’d like to get the seeds in today if we can.”
“Sure thing,” Kyle says, taking his bag over and picking up Mom’s old hoe. “This’ll be fun. I don’t get to use a good hoe often enough. Like I told you, I do mostly big jobs and they’re all power tools. It’s like nobody remembers what your hands are for these days.”
My mouth falls open, and Mom bumps me with her shoulder. I look over and she’s fighting a grin. And totally watching Kyle swing the hoe into the soft dirt and pull it back, shifting the earth around. “He’s such a gem. I can’t decide if he truly has no idea what he’s saying or if he knows but is so good at the dry delivery that it makes you question it. Either way . . .”
“Mom!” I hiss.
“What? I call and you’re listening to dirty books while driving down the highway. I met this nice young guy and thought you two might get along. I’m only trying to help.”
I groan, feeling a pulsing headache coming on. Mom’s run off the deep end this time. With River and me out of the house and Dad going overseas on these work trips, she’s had too much time by herself.
It’s got to be the only explanation. “One little romance book—not porn—and you decide the best option is to pull some nineteenth-century setup and—”
“Don’t use that word. He might hear you,” Mom shushes me. Louder, she calls, “Kyle, would you like some tea? It’s a scorcher, and I wouldn’t want you to get dehydrated.”
Kyle shrugs, setting his hoe aside, and comes over. “Sure, Mrs. Watson. Thanks.”
Mom virtually runs across the yard into the house to get another glass. And leaves me alone with Kyle. What does she think? I’m going to jump him and demand to have his babies while she’s in the house?
“I am so sorry about this,” I tell him, majorly embarrassed at the obvious set-up. “I had no idea.”
“I kinda figured when your mom told me all about her single daughter and then offered to pay twice my going rate for some easy day labor,” he says with a laugh.
I melt right there. Into the grass, sinking through the layers of dirt to the lava-filled core of the earth and incinerating to ash. Or at least I wish that’s what happened so I wouldn’t have to stand here like this isn’t the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.
“Oh. My. God. I can’t . . . I don’t . . .” I sputter, lost for words.
“It’s okay. If it’s any consolation, you’re even more beautiful than she said.” He beams like that’s supposed to make me feel better. Oddly, it doesn’t.
Any other time, I think I’d find Kyle attractive, even gorgeous. And objectively, I can say that’s true. But there’s no spark inside me when I look at him. My sparks are already saved for one man, and it’s not Kyle. It’s Noah.
“Thanks?” I say awkwardly because how do you handle something like this? There’s definitely nothing about this kind of situation in Miss Manners for the 2000s. Probably because I never read that, if it even exists.
“Can I ask you a question?” Kyle says. “You look kinda familiar. That’s not a line, I swear. But do I know you from somewhere?”
He’s searching my face, and suddenly, I’m smoothing down my flyaways too.
No, no, no. This cannot be happening. I can’t be recognized as Riley Sunshine when he thinks I’m so desperate and lonely, my own mother is basically paying him to come over on some pseudo-date setup.
The trolls and haters would have a field day with that.
“Must just have one of those faces,” I reply lightly. Or at least I hope it comes off as casual, because inside, I’m freaking out. My heart is racing, my skin feels too small, and the sweat coating my body has gone cold. “Not like I’m ever in a gardening center or have any need for . . . power tools.”
I did not just say that.
Thankfully, it seems Kyle actually is that unwitting about the double meaning of his earlier comment because he simply smiles and nods. “Sure, I just thought . . . Well, never mind. We’d better get back to work, I guess, or Mrs. Watson might fire me for not getting this work done.”
On cue, Mom returns with Kyle’s tea, condensation rivulets running down the glass telling me that she waited to come back out so that Kyle and I could talk. She hands the drink to Kyle as I bite my tongue, literally, to avoid making a scene over this. Mom, of course, looks as happy as can be. “You two getting along?”