Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
She nodded, then turned toward the bar and started walking. I kept my eyes off her ass and used every second to strategize my possible responses to what she might say. Forget logic and the very real reasons I’d ghosted her; every single scenario I pictured began and ended with the one thing I’d never done for any woman—groveling.
She opened the door near the corner of the bar like it hadn’t been ten years since the last time she’d turned the handle, and damn if it didn’t feel like I was eighteen again, hiding out with her while Gavin was on a shift, studying for the entrance test and laughing and talking about nothing yet everything at the same time.
I walked in after her, noting the scent of air freshener and stale beer, and closed the door behind me. For as bad as it smelled, it was neat and organized, from the file cabinet in the corner to the desk to my left. That’s where I put my ass, leaned it right on the edge of the surprisingly sturdy furniture so she’d have a clear line to the door and wouldn’t feel trapped.
“This place looks exactly the same.” She turned slowly in the flickering fluorescent light, taking in the details of the space in that quiet, observant way she had. I’d always thought she’d survived in that house because she was acutely perceptive, able to predict when a storm was headed her way. “But you . . .” She folded her arms across her chest and studied me with eyes that had lost the angry fire I’d faced back at the house. Given the cursory, almost empty way she looked at me, the fire would have been a blessing. “You take up more of it than you used to.”
“A couple inches of growth and rescue swimmer school will do that.” A corner of my mouth lifted. “And you look good too.” Better than good. She was a knockout, with big eyes, bow-shaped lips, and the cutest freckles across her cheeks. The girl I’d always thought was beautiful had grown far past that word as a woman.
She scoffed. “I look like I haven’t taken class in four months or slept since childhood.” It came out as flat as her gaze.
“Never could take a compliment.”
A spark of that fire flared in her eyes, and I barely leashed a cheer. She was still in there. “Not the point.” She shook her head, and her hair fell around her face in a soft deep-brown curtain as she dug into her purse. The wavy mass was a little longer now, falling a few inches past her collarbone. “I came because Anne mentioned that Gavin still worked here, and I thought he could tell me where to find you.”
“You came looking for me?” A full-on smile spread across my face. So much for strategy—I was going on instinct and hoping it didn’t fail me for the first time.
“Well, yeah.” With one hand she swept her hair from her face while the other tugged her phone free. “I didn’t know who else to go to. Or who to tell. Or who you’d told.”
“About?” I leaned forward.
“You need to talk to Caroline. I’m not Juniper’s mother.” Her fingers worked the screen.
“Of course you’re not.” Hadn’t given it a second thought.
She held up the same app Juniper used. “Turns out I’m her aunt.”
Chapter Eight
Allie
PointePrincess50363: That Ballanchine technique hurts to watch. Bring back your sister to show you how to do it right RousseauSisters4
Two days later, I tucked my knees under me in the oversize chair, and stared across the formal living room at Hudson, the ticking of the grandfather clock filling the miles of silence between us as it counted away the late-morning hours.
After Gavin burst in about thirty seconds into our conversation at the bar, we’d agreed to meet somewhere we wouldn’t be disturbed. I’d thought delaying the conversation would give us time to compose ourselves, or at least make it less awkward. I was wrong.
“Five minutes.” Hudson broke the silence.
“I’m sorry?”
“This might go a little easier if you pretend for the next five minutes that you don’t hate me.” He leaned forward on the blue-and-cream-striped couch, and braced his elbows on his knees, ignoring the hot cup of coffee on the coffee table between us. At least one thing hadn’t changed in the last ten years; he was wearing a Bruins cap.
“Five minutes isn’t going to do it, and I doubt that would make this any less awkward.”
“Let’s give it a shot.” He pulled his phone out and showed me the timer. “Take it five minutes at a time.”
“Five minutes. Fine. I kind of thought you’d be in uniform after getting off a twenty-four-hour shift.” I tugged the sleeves of my sweater down over the heels of my palms. Soon, it would be too hot for my favorites. June was breathing down our necks.