Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Come in,” he said.
I pushed the door open tentatively, about to cross all boundaries of professional behavior. “Tell me to go away or that it’s none of my business,” I began.
He waved me in, pointing to a chair. “He didn’t say much.”
“Is he going to take the job?”
Porter nodded. “He’s going to be a driver.”
“We have two drivers,” I objected.
“He’s gonna do what he can and take it easy until he heals completely.”
That was interesting. “Did he say anything about Gina?”
Porter sighed. “Not much. I can’t tell if he doesn’t care or if he’s got PTSD.”
“He was always that way,” I reminded him.
“I didn’t really know him,” Porter admitted.
“Neither did I,” I agreed quickly. “I just had a couple classes with him.”
Porter looked up, meeting my eyes with a smile that was a little too understanding. I shot to my feet, figuring my time as “friend” was over and it was time to get back to my receptionist duties. I returned to my desk to continue my work, chewing over the brief interaction.
Why was I so unnerved by Linc? Was it just old feelings coming back from long ago, or was there more to it? He had been more attractive than I remembered, muscular and tense in a way that spoke of life and death experience. His buzz cut and straight jaw left no doubt as to where he had been for the past eight years. I could see the ripple of toned biceps beneath his T-shirt, and the fabric danced loosely over his abdomen, promising a washboard stomach. It was possible that I was even more taken with him than I had been a decade ago. But that was crazy. I didn’t know anything about him. And he had made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with any of us here in Singer’s Ridge.
I clocked out at five and went home. Friday night, I usually tried to go out, even if I didn’t have company. I could text Mary Beth and ask her if she wanted to go dancing. Sometimes she was up for a night on the town, even though she had a husband and two children. Sometimes Gina and I snuck away, leaving Porter to care for Seth. But tonight, I didn’t feel like doing either of those things.
My home was a cabin in the mountains. It was off of Deer Tail Road, about a ten-minute drive from work. I didn’t have enough money to buy it yet, but I had signed up for one of those rent-to-own deals. After ten years of monthly payments, I would be able to assume the mortgage—if I lasted ten years or if the owner didn’t sell it out from under me. Still, it was a dream, and something to look forward to.
I pulled up the drive and turned the car off. Outside the cabin there was a packed earth yard with a picnic table and a grill. The forest began about ten yards from my front door. Around back was a proper yard with grass and flowers. I had set up two lounge chairs, one for me and one for the company that I hardly ever had. There was a little bit of a view in the back. The land sloped off down into a valley, and the trees were sparse for the first hundred yards. Part of the next mountain was visible in the distance, along with a bit of sky.
I went inside, dropped my purse and my keys, and changed into something more comfortable. Pouring myself a glass of wine, I went out back and sat down. I practically lived in this lounge chair. I had a television, but I never watched it. If I was going to watch anything, it was usually YouTube, but I couldn’t get excited enough about any content creator to subscribe.
Most of the time, I just sat in the backyard, scrolling through social media or watching the forest. There was a family of squirrels that I had become familiar with. I watched them scurry back and forth, collecting food and leaping from branch to branch. I imagined myself alone on the mountain, divorced from civilization, free of all constraints.
I didn’t know if Lincoln had PTSD, but if he did, I could relate. Before I worked for Mr. Matthews, I had gotten a job as a waitress in Greenwood. It was one of those chain restaurants where they paid you less than minimum wage and made you wear goofy costumes and sing stupid songs.
The drama had been overwhelming. The manager was sleeping with one of the waitresses but was also married and everyone knew it. The franchise owner yelled at everyone no matter how hard they were working. There was a homeless guy who snuck in and sat in the back of the restaurant, forcing us to call the cops multiple times. I spent eight hours a day racing back and forth from the kitchen to placate toddlers who didn’t want buns with their hotdogs or retirees who said the coffee was too hot. In addition to all that, I was dating one of the cooks, and he was an emotional drain.