Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“Gladys? She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“Absolutely. I love this car.”
She slides in and I step closer, taking in the sweet scent of her perfume.
“Let me help with that,” I say, reaching for her seat belt so I have an excuse to get closer to her.
“Oh, such service,” she says sweetly.
I want to grab her hips and turn her to face me, then make out with her for the next twenty minutes. But instead, I fasten her seat belt and place a single soft kiss on her temple.
“This car belonged to my dad,” I say. “It’s a classic—1977. He loved it. When he died thirteen years ago, it became mine. I’ve had it completely restored.”
Her expression softens. “I’m sorry about your dad. I love that you still drive his car.”
“It has lots of memories. All good.” I step back and close her door, then walk around to the driver’s side.
A few seconds into our drive, she asks a tentative question. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but was it sudden? Losing your dad?”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and glance over at her. “You can ask me anything you want. It was sudden, yeah. He killed himself with a shotgun.”
“Oh God, Rowan.” She covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” I look ahead at the road. “I was sixteen at the time. And it...” I stop, not wanting to bring down the mood with my sad story. But it’s a big part of who I am, and I’ve waited a long time to have conversations with Cam that bring us closer. “It was almost a year after my mom died from ovarian cancer. My dad, he just...couldn’t face life without her anymore, you know?”
She’s quiet for a couple of seconds. “I feel like saying I’m sorry about all of that is...not enough.”
“It was tough, but I got through it. I lived with my hockey coach and his family while I finished high school. They were really good to me.”
“You’re so resilient. I’m sure they’d be very proud of you.”
Something inside me tightens instinctively as I push back thoughts of my parents. I rarely talk about them, and even all these years later, it still hurts when I do.
“That’s nice of you to say. Do you see much of your parents?”
“Not really. It’s just my dad. My mom passed away. And my dad is a lifelong Southside Chicago guy. He kind of has this old-fashioned view that once the kids fly the nest, that’s it. We talk on the phone every few months, but he’s not a get together for the holidays kind of guy. He spends Thanksgiving in his recliner with a beer in hand.”
“Does that bother you?”
She waves a hand. “It really doesn’t. Tess and I wanted a different life for our kids, and we made those lives. That’s enough for us. Even when we had no money, we’d spend Christmas Eve making construction paper art projects with the kids, watching movies and drinking hot chocolate. We want our kids to have those memories and to have homes to come home to with their own families someday.”
“You’re an incredible mom.”
It’s one of my favorite things about her. My mom fought cancer for a little over three years before she passed away, and I missed her when she was so sick she had to be in bed all the time. I missed the lunches she packed for me with home-baked cookies and the way she always wanted to hear about my days at school. I understand it now, but I didn’t then.
“Thank you. Raising kids is the most difficult and rewarding thing I’ve ever done.”
She tells me what it was like having twin infants for the rest of our drive, and it sounds like she hardly slept for the first few months. I can’t imagine taking care of one infant, let alone two. My admiration for her grows.
When I park at the Japanese fusion restaurant I made us a reservation at, she lets out a little squeal of happiness.
“You remembered how much I love sushi.”
“I called ahead and told them to make extra.”
She laughs lightly. “Wait...you didn’t, did you?”
I grin. “No.”
She feigns a thoughtful expression. “This place definitely doesn’t have Sweet Tarts. We’re going to the movies next, aren’t we?”
I put my hands up. “I can’t say. First we’re gonna do some damage to the sushi supply here.”
“I’m so in.”
We walk into the restaurant hand in hand, the light feeling still there. Cam is special. The closer we get, the more I like her.
One of the things I’ve always liked about her is that she actually eats. She doesn’t exist on vodka and water or pick at salads like other women I’ve taken out. We talk and laugh about the boys, Dom, Tess, Hannah and Zane as we eat. The meal seems to fly by.