Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“It’s in the garage, second shelf, right-hand side. And tell your husband the NA beer is in this one; I know he’s on call tonight,” I told Cassidy before pouring the bag of ice into the cooler. The heat wave had weekend temps pushing eighty, which meant it was time for the first Sunday barbecue of the season.
“Man, it’s weird to be here when Finley isn’t,” Brie said, swinging a bag of beach towels over her shoulder.
“Yeah, but it’s your mom’s weekend, and I know how they both live for it.” Finley adored her grandmother. Hell, we both did. Vivian filled the massive shoes left empty not just by Claire but by the three other grandparents Fin was missing.
“How’s the new nanny working out?”
“So far, so good. I know your mom wasn’t keen on Fin spending so much time with a stranger—”
“Look, Jax, your job is utterly unpredictable. You never know if you’ll get a call or if a shift will run late. You have no say in what happens out there.” She motioned toward the ocean. “Mom’s not taking care of her diabetes the way she should, and she’s getting older. She’s not up for those late-night drop-offs anymore. You absolutely did the right thing hiring Sarah.”
I closed the lid on the cooler. “She still pissed about it?”
Brie cringed. “Well, she did go off on Claire for a good twenty minutes this morning.”
My stomach cramped. “Claire’s here?”
“Oh no!” Brie’s eyebrows shot up. “I meant on the phone. They still talk every Saturday.”
My jaw flexed, and I bit back every remark that came to mind, like how fucking ludicrous it was that Claire talked to her mother every week when she hadn’t bothered to call Finley in the last two months. “How is she?” I managed to ask.
It wasn’t Brie’s fault that Claire was…well, Claire.
“She’s good. Still in L.A. waiting to see if the last pilot she did gets picked up.”
“Pilot. Right.” How many was that now?
“She really does miss Finley. You, too, of course.” Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Yeah, misses her so much that she’s seen her once in the last eight months.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm the ever-present rage that boiled to my surface whenever I thought about the way Claire treated Fin. “You know what? Let’s not do this.”
Brie forced a quick smile. “Good idea. Let’s get down to the barbecue,” she suggested, moving to hold the door open.
“Yeah, let’s get out there.” I latched the cooler and lifted its hefty weight, then headed out of the house and down the stairs with Brie following close behind.
My gaze caught on the massive F250 parked outside Morgan’s boathouse. Sam—her last houseguest—had left two days ago, and I hadn’t seen the truck or her Mini Cooper budge.
None of your business.
Except I’d gone and made it my business the minute I’d rescued her over a week ago. But what the hell else was I supposed to have done, left her stranded with her Hello Kitties blowing in the breeze, half in and half out of her staircase?
Maybe if she hadn’t fallen through the wood, if Fin hadn’t heard her yell, if I hadn’t raced out there to dislodge her, I would have had a prayer’s chance of ignoring my new neighbor.
Sure, until you saw her or heard her speak.
Yeah, there was nothing ignorable about Morgan Bartley, which was really damned inconvenient.
Not that I was going to act on that attraction. Hell no, my life was complicated enough without messing around with someone I had to see on a daily basis. Morgan was off-limits, which didn’t really matter, because something told me she wasn’t emotionally available, anyway, even if she had called me pretty.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Brie said, jarring me from my thoughts as we reached the ground. “You saved me from tagging along to the shipwreck museum for the hundredth time.”
“You’re Finley’s aunt—you’re always invited,” I reminded her for the thousandth time since we brought Fin home from the hospital.
I paused by the wooden gate that separated my backyard from the path to the dune and looked up at Morgan’s house, unable to let go of the nagging feeling in my chest that I needed to check on her.
“Need a hand?” Sawyer asked as he came up behind me, the volleyball under his arm.
“Nawh, I’m good,” I told him.
“You sure? You look a little scrawny to handle that.” He motioned to the cooler.
“Fuck off.” I spent a hell of a lot of my downtime at work running and lifting, refusing to give into the dad bod, as Sawyer once implied. “You can barely handle that ball.”
“Speaking of which, you ready to get your ass kicked?”
“Never going to happen.” I smirked at my best friend. Movement in Morgan’s window caught my eye, and my attention drifted to her house—to her—again. Had she seen sunlight since her friend left? “You know what? Why don’t you take Brie to the party? I’ll be there in a second.”