Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“Okay?”
“Ben, I can see you’re struggling here because it’s complicated. But fuck, we’re all more complicated than anyone knows. That’s the point. You’ve got a past, and so does she. Letting her in? Seeing where it goes? What’s the worst that could happen? You and Summer fall in love with her?”
“We’ve both got pasts, but you’re forgetting she’s also got a present, Clay,” I comment on a sigh. “A fuckwad ex-fiancé with a fancy car and even fancier lawyers. There’s a lot more to this than falling in love with her. Plus, if she ever found out the truth about what happened to her sister, I’d be more worried about her falling in love with us—with Summer. It’ll end her.”
Clay purses his lips. “Falling in love with Summer is what’s gonna end all of us, Ben. But I guarantee you, it’ll be worth it, even then.”
Monday, August 23rd
Norah
One thing I loved about New York was Central Park. Every morning, no matter what day of the week, you could find a bustle of runners, joggers, bikers, walkers, dogs and dog owners, enjoying the small slice of nature within the otherwise overcrowded, congested city.
And most days, I was in that group. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not some avid runner training for a marathon. Not even close. I’m more of a “I’m going to move my legs in a running motion until my legs don’t feel like doing that, and then I’ll just walk” kind of gal.
Rain or shine, snow or summer heat, I put on a pair of sneakers and let my feet hit the pavement for thirty minutes or so. I let my lungs inhale the fresh air and my eyes take in the sight of my fellow city dwellers trying to get a little morning exercise.
It was my thing. And over the years, it had become one of the very few things I did for myself.
That I chose for myself.
It’s no wonder, as I try to find my way again inside a town the size of a sardine can, that I’m internally restless for more things like that. Mundane, sure, but equally important.
That’s not the only reason you’re restless.
Okay, fine. What happened Friday night at The Country Club might also be a driving force for my need to run. There’s nothing like some arguing turned slapping turned hot-and-heavy kissing with your new boss to make any woman feel discombobulated.
And hot-and-heavy kissing it was. Pretty sure you were—
No. No. No. Not going there.
Needless to say, I haven’t seen Bennett since shit went down, but my stupid brain hasn’t given me a break from constantly thinking about it.
Hell, I couldn’t even bring myself to hang around the bar after I saw Bennett leave. I didn’t follow through with my promise to Tad to do another karaoke song. Didn’t even stay to watch him give his best rendition of “Baby Got Back.” My head was spinning too fast with thoughts of Bennett—and the implications of that insane moment—to do anything but go home.
And now, before heading off to work another day at a job I’m hoping I still have, I’ve decided to get back to my roots and go for a run. Well, a walk-jog, if you will. Surely it will help with the nervous energy that has rooted inside my belly since Friday night.
Fingers and toes crossed, this will give me the endorphin boost I need to survive whatever is going to happen when I show up to his house this morning.
Now, Red Bridge doesn’t have a Central Park, but there is a quaint hiking trail that runs along the outside of the town. Apparently, the loop is about four miles, but you can easily detour straight back into the center of town without any issues. At least, that’s what the map at the start of the trail leads you to believe.
I pause at the entrance and snort when I note the actual name of the trail—Happy Trail. As in, this name could go two ways. Either a serious sexual innuendo or completely innocent to the point of naïve that no one picked up on the double entendre.
In this town, the motivation is a toss-up.
When my phone starts ringing inside the side pocket of my leggings, I pull it out to find Incoming Call Lillian flashing on the screen.
“Hey, stranger,” I answer by the second ring, and I’m surprised that my cell service appears intact.
“I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve talked to you.” Lillian’s voice accuses gently, and I instantly miss her.
I don’t miss my life in New York. I don’t miss the fake friends I acquired because of my relationship with Thomas. I don’t miss constantly having to appease my mother by going to functions I didn’t care about or doing things because they made her happy. And I certainly don’t miss my ex.