Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Everything in this kitchen was handcrafted by him, from the dining set to the wood countertops and giant butcher-block island. It’s all white ash, carefully selected and shaped and artificially aged. Every deceptively simple piece is a quiet testament to untold hours of meticulous craftsmanship.
I stop and sigh, hoping I’ll be a tenth as good as he is someday.
There’s a second mug of tea sitting across from him, still steaming. It’s like he can tell when I’m coming back.
I shrug off my jacket and hang it on the peg by the door, then settle in across from him and curl my hands against the ceramic for warmth.
“Hey, Grandpa,” I say.
“Hey, yourself. Late night, sweetheart?” He gives me a long, searching look and sips his tea, smacking his lips.
“I was meeting a friend.” I shrug flippantly. “Why’d you wait up for me so long? Mrs. Brodsky must’ve left an hour ago.”
“Yeah, well.” He stops there.
He worries about me a lot, I think.
But one reason I love him is because he’s never tried to tell me how to live my life, even knowing how careful I have to be.
We’re partners, and he trusts me to take care of myself.
So it’s not like him to be waiting.
But tonight, I’m glad he is.
Because right now the homey warmth of this kitchen, surrounded by the sweet smell of hot herbal tea and the ever-present scent of sawdust, feels like something I didn’t know I needed.
It grounds me again.
Makes me feel like I can figure this mess out, if I just sit down and take my time and really think it through.
“Guess I couldn’t wait to see my granddaughter. Is that a crime now?” He snorts, but his eyes are shrewd over his mug. “You went up to the big house today.”
“Oh, yes. I did. You remember?”
“Took me a minute, but yes.” He doesn’t dance around his dementia episodes.
After they pass, he’s open to talking about them and where he is mentally. The practicality of his generation makes him the kind of man who won’t shrink away from facing his reality.
“What was it about again?” he asks. “Help an old fart out.”
“Mm.” I stare down into my tea, watching the misty curls of smoke rising. “Xavier Arrendell has a job for us. A big one. He wants us to redecorate the entire manor. Top to bottom, every piece of furniture, all the interiors. Half the stuff he wants, I’m going to have to get like a whole new certification to know how to do. An army of subcontractors. Something.”
“Damn. But it’s something you can do, if you want to,” he points out, those blue eyes still holding mine. I seem to be surrounded by men who like to skewer me with heady looks, but Grandpa’s gaze is a familiar thing. Very different from the way Micah Ainsley makes me shiver just by staring. “The real question is, do you want the work, Tally-girl?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s a lot of money, even if we could use it.” He knows why. I don’t need to say it. “But it’s also a lot for us to take on alone, even with some hired help.” I bite my lip, watching him. “Do you want to do it?”
He laughs roughly.
“You know I’m no stranger to hard work, even if I might have my doubts about the client. Those folks up on the hill always did leave a sour taste in my mouth, but I suppose I wouldn’t have to deal with them, if you’re already talking to that Xavier boy. Which leaves this in your hands.” His gaze softens. “I’ll leave it up to you, Tally.” There’s a softness to the way he says that name that just chokes me up every time. “If you want to take it on, I’ll follow your lead. But if you don’t want to, there’s no shame in turning it down.”
But I don’t want to!
Instant knee-jerk thought.
I’m not just talking about the job, either.
There’s a stubborn, restless part of me that balks at playing it safe, at being careful like I have been for my entire life.
I may tell myself I’m different now—not that frightened little girl locked away behind closed doors anymore—but when do I ever get a chance to prove it?
I’ve also never been a big fan of people who tell me how brave I am just for trying to have a normal life. It feels patronizing. Like I’m this small pathetic thing who can’t hope for anything bigger and better.
Maybe sometimes I feel like that’s what I actually am, but I don’t want to be.
I won’t deny I’m afraid.
I’m afraid of Xavier Arrendell.
I’m afraid of what Micah’s asking me to do.
But I don’t want that, either.
So I offer Grandpa a smile as resolve hardens inside me.
“I need to think a little more,” I say. “But it could be interesting.”