Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
I was good at that. It was one of my best qualities.
I could always turn my attention to the bright side.
I could always pretend like nothing could hurt me.
Jaxson had found a modern little cabin to stay at, an A-frame with tall windows and a gorgeous claw-foot tub that I couldn’t wait to soak in. It was right on the river next to the boardwalk that led to the main street of shops, and apparently it was owned by an old friend of his. We popped in long enough to unload the car, and for us both to put on sunglasses and hats, and then I was dragging him by the hand out the door to explore.
We didn’t have any plans for the day, but as we walked in and out of shops and ate lunch at a place with the best pierogies I’d ever had in my life, I made a list of everything I wanted to do.
I wanted to paddle board the reservoir. I wanted to drive up to see Lake Louise and Moraine Lake. I wanted to hike Grassi Lakes and eat fondue at the Grizzly House in Banff and take a boat tour of Lake Minnewanka. I wanted a picture of us by the Banff sign, wanted to make out in the gondola on the ride up to Sulphur Mountain. And I was definitely not leaving here without indulging in every weird Canadian snack I could get my grubby little hands on — starting with ketchup chips.
I wanted to do and see and experience everything that made Jaxson Brittain.
He listened patiently as I rattled it all off while we ate lunch, jotting line by line down in a special notebook I’d purchased from one of the stores. It had an illustration of the Three Sisters mountain peaks on the front and said Dare to Live Big.
But even as Jaxson chimed in with his suggestions, I could feel the tension radiating off him as he picked at his poutine.
I tried to keep the conversation light, but I was dying to get inside his head.
“Wait,” I said when the waitress brought us our second beers — an IPA for Jaxson, a watermelon sour for me. “Did you just speak French?”
The waitress had said something to one of her co-workers behind the bar, and when Jaxson heard it, he responded to her in the same language. She’d seemed somewhat surprised, and then I filled in the blanks that he told her he was from the area.
He cocked a brow. “I did.”
“What the actual fuck?”
“Surprised?”
“Very,” I said, waving my hand for him to fill in the blanks.
He just shrugged. “We all learn French in school here.”
“That’s so cool,” I said, leaning an elbow on my open notebook. “Say something in French.”
“Tu es une si bonne fille, Grace.”
Fuck me. Even the way he said my name sounded French.
“What did you say?”
Jaxson leaned forward over the table, his eyes dancing between mine. “I said — you’re such a good girl, Grace.”
My neck burned, and I immediately sat up and picked up my pen. “Yep. Definitely adding Fuck Jaxson Brittain While He Whispers Dirty French Things to the list.”
I scribbled it out with a smile, but when I looked up at Jaxson again, he was watching me like his stomach was sick.
“You okay?” I asked, closing the notebook and setting the list aside.
His gaze swept over my face, over and over, like he was committing me to memory. “I’m great, Nova.”
His voice was soft and sad, and I reached across the table to cover his hand with mine.
“You’re pulling a Grace.”
He chuckled at that.
“Is it your dad?” I guessed.
He swallowed, squeezing where my hand held his, and nodded.
“Do you want to go see him?”
“Hell no,” he answered quickly, and then let out a long, pained sigh. “And that makes me feel like such a piece of shit.”
“You’re not a piece of shit because you don’t want to see the man who constantly uses and abuses you.”
Jaxson frowned, cracking his neck. “He’s not all bad, you know. I have a lot of good memories with him — how he taught me to skate, taught me to play, taught me all the things to look for when I’m studying video.” He swallowed. “It’s just…”
“Tainted,” I finished for him. “Because most of the time, he’s yelling at you or asking for money.”
His brows bent together, and he nodded again. Then, he blew out a breath and sat back, releasing me and flattening his palms on the table. “What do you say we finish these beers and go back to the cabin?”
“So you can whisper dirty French words in my ear?”
“I can’t think of a better way to spend a night.”
I smiled, watching as he thumbed out some of the Canadian cash we’d picked up from the bank. He left it on the table and grabbed my hand in his, leading us back out into the street.