Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Make shit to win, the Moon Larkspur motto.”
“Ha-ha. And yes. So, what’s the plan?”
“I don’t...have one? Because you just told me to do this five seconds ago.”
“Yah I know. Let’s go make a plan!”
“Now?”
“What, you got something better to do?”
He really, really did not.
“That’s what I thought. Hey, before we go in, point me toward that asshole.”
Bram rolled his eyes and pointed his phone screen across the street, confident that the sound would not carry.
“It is on!” Moon yelled. “It is so, so on!”
* * *
Bram was having fun. Actual fun, not “my heart is broken and I am destroyed but ha-ha isn’t this a blast” fun like he had been having for the last six months.
He and Moon had spent hours on the phone the week before planning out his decorations. They’d conferenced Thistle and Vega into the call, of course, and Vega had texted Birch and their dad, and before long they all just moved to Skype for the rest of the planning session. Each Larkspur had, upon getting the gloss from Moon about what they were doing, said some version of “Bram is entering a competition??” And Birch had nodded in agreement every single time.
Which was nice, because his family knew him. But also made him think that maybe it was time to put a little competitive muscle behind this thing. If everyone thought he couldn’t do it, he’d love to prove them wrong.
He’d ended the call by thanking them and saying, “I’ll win it for you!” Which he thought he’d seen someone say, impassionedly, in a sports movie once. It had seemed the kind of thing you said to the family who helped you. His dad had given him a virtual fist bump and his siblings had dissolved into laughter as he hung up the call. But it had felt so good to be around them, to have them on his side. Besides, they’d had some great ideas.
In fact, he was in the midst of working on one of Thistle’s ideas this morning, and he went to the hardware store for supplies.
“Hello,” Charlie, the owner, said brightly when he walked in. “Bram, right?”
“Yeah.”
They shook hands and Bram described what he needed to Charlie, unfolding a sketch he’d done of it and flattening it on the counter.
“Whoa! Is that a dragon?”
That was the comment from a sweet-looking blond guy behind the counter.
“It’s supposed to be, yeah. A fire-breathing dragon. I’ll put the light in here.” He tapped the drawing. “Then the shadows should fall like this” He drew the shapes of fangs that should fall over the lawn from another light behind the piece.
“And you’re going to carve this. With a chainsaw.”
“Yep.” Bram grinned as the blond man’s eyebrows disappeared under his messy bangs. He reached out a hand and placed it over the drawing, as if to cover it from anyone’s eyes.
“Listen,” the man said intently, looking around. “I need you to swear that you will never—and I mean never—tell my daughter that you can carve sculptures with a chainsaw. Because my insurance is not good enough for that. No offense, boss,” he added to Charlie.
Charlie shook his head somberly. “I really wish I could offer better insurance,” he said. “I’m working on it with some other businesses—”
“Charlie, I know! Don’t worry. Not my point.”
“Okay,” Bram assured him. “I don’t know your daughter, but I promise I’ll never tell her about chainsaw carving?”
A little girl with the same blond hair skipped out from the back room.
“What’s chainsaw carving?” she asked intently.
The blond man froze, and Charlie started coughing spasmodically.
“Math,” Bram tossed out casually, then kept talking as he had been. “Anyway, I think I need to source the lumber from someplace indoors. Moisture content in the wood, you know?”
The little girl looked disappointed and wandered back into the bowels of the store.
“Bless you,” the blond man said and there was sincere relief in his face. “It’s just that I’m still not over the tarantula phase and I don’t think I can take the constant threat of grievous bodily harm. Oh, I’m Adam, by the way. And she’s Gus.”
Bram laughed. “No problem. Bram.” Then the sense of familiarity clicked. “I think I sold you and your daughter a Christmas tree last year.”
Adam flushed. “Yup, you did.”
“He’s the one who told me about Garnet Run!” Bram said to Charlie, realization dawning.
Charlie just smiled.
Charlie knew just who to get the wood from—Charlie seemed to know just where and from whom to get everything in Garnet Run—and offered to lend Bram his truck since Bram certainly couldn’t transport tree trunks on a motorcycle.
“That would be so great. I really appreciate it. Let me know if you want a carving for outside your shop.”
Charlie’s eyes twinkled.
“You know what. I know just who would want one.”
Which is how Bram found himself outside someplace called the Dirt Road Cat Shelter.