Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“What’s on your mind?” I asked.
He stared at me intently again. “Fox and I have started to look at online real estate listings in the past couple of months,” he said softly, like he was trying to be gentle now. “Fox likes the house he bought when he first moved back here, but he doesn’t love it. And he keeps talking about wanting to find a perfect, storybook craftsman home.”
“Oh,” I said, sitting back a little in my seat as I realized the implication of what Sam was saying. “...Oh.”
“Just think about it,” Sam blurted out. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Hell, even if you just wanted to hold onto your dad’s house ‘til the day you died, that’s your right. But I just wanted to put it out there.”
“That you and Fox might be interested in buying it,” I said.
He swallowed. For the first time ever, Sam actually looked nervous. “Fox and I would love that home more than anyone in the entire state of Kansas,” he said. “We would only restore it to its beautiful, fucking perfect craftsman glory. We’d treat it like our own child. That thing is a classic and is exactly the sort of old charm and character that the two of us love. I never would have dared to ask about it until I knew you were serious about selling, but if you are, we would be honored to take care of that little house.”
I turned over the idea in my mind. I felt like I was suddenly thinking in a foreign language, thinking about a version of the future I’d never even considered possible. The idea of selling the house had always seemed so frightening and so impossible, because I’d always imagined that it would have to be sold to strangers.
But imagining people that I knew in there—people that were maybe starting their own family, people that were genuine and kind and had helped me—that felt a whole lot different.
As I mulled it over, I watched Sam work and an affectionate feeling bubbled up inside me. Seeing the way that he had talked about the house almost made me feel heartbroken in a different, sweeter way.
If I sold the house, I would have to mourn losing that part of me forever. But if it were in Sam and Fox’s hands… it wouldn’t be gone. I knew that Sam would send pictures and videos from the house, especially of any updates and restoration they made on the house. And I knew, beyond any doubt, that they would take incredible care of it.
I let out a long sigh as Red ambled back over a few minutes later. “Need a refill already?” he asked, nodding down at my whiskey.
“I’m not going to lie, I drank that first glass so fast that I feel a little buzz from it already,” I said. “I came in here expecting to drink my stress away, but I think I’m actually going to go easy.”
“You don’t have to sell to him if you don’t want to,” Red said softly, leaning over toward me a bit. “It’s your decision, through and through. But I do know that Sam is right when he says they’d be the best owners in Kansas.”
I pulled in a long, shuddering breath. “And I know that Dad would love it,” I managed to say, even as I felt my throat getting tight again. “Sam would have made him laugh, and he would have shot the shit about the stock market with Fox for hours.”
“You’ve got to be feeling about a thousand emotions at once right now,” Red said. He grabbed a pint glass, filling it with ice and water. “If you’re not gonna drink more, then at least stay hydrated.”
A laugh bubbled up in me and I took the water, taking a big swig. “Thank you, Red. You know, I’m pretty sure what I really need is a bit of therapy, but instead, I’ve been coming here.”
“Red’s Tavern Therapy, at your service. Cowboy therapy.”
“Exactly,” I said. “That’s why you get the good tips.”
“And my bartenders deserve the good tips, to be sure,” Red said.
I heard the sound of the front door opening and when I looked over, I knew I was going to finally break down the moment I saw Tristan walking in—so beautiful, so perfect, and mine.
“There you are,” he said, walking over to me. He was wearing such a simple outfit, just a heather grey hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, jeans, and boots. But I swore to the Lord above that Tristan had never looked so good to me in my entire time knowing him.
I slid off the bar stool and gripped him into a tight hug the moment he came over. A couple of tears were breaking off from my eyes and rolling down my cheek, and when I finally let go and leaned back, Tristan’s eyes went wide.