Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Tapping the counter, I force myself to look away, spotting an errant hairband I think she left lying there on purpose. She watches as I slide it off the counter, but I’d steal it like the kleptomaniac she’s turned me into if she wasn't. I’d be a thief willing to steal anything to be closer, even her heart if she’s not careful.
“Take your time, but . . .” I walk around and hand it to her. “The offer stands. I’d like you to stay as my guest, Poppy.” When she pauses too long, I start to worry about rejection. “I can still pay for your time.” I hate how the talk of money ruins our exchange. Desperation does that before you know it’s happening.
Picking up the knife again, she grabs an apple and starts slicing. “No, money is not the issue.” Her tone doesn’t give her thoughts away, and I find myself wanting to pry them open and put them on display to read more easily.
The stretching silence is more telling than her words ever could be. The knife is set down with intention, and she finally says, “You shouldn’t have to pay people to spend time with you.”
That, right there. She may not remember, but I knew Poppy saw me. Two years of hell was worth this moment. But there’s always an answer. There are good people in my life, but that circle is small. “The only people I know who come free of charge are the ones who made it big with me.” As I walk to the door, I run my hand through my hair, tugging at the ends.
I’ve shown her who I am. I can’t stand around hoping she accepts the offer. She needs time, so I slip on each boot, not bothering to tie them, and grab my coat from a hook. “I’m a different person. Pain alters people that way.”
Leaving might not be the best solution, but it will give us room to think. “I’m going to check on the generator.”
Opening the door, I’m outside before I have a chance to change my mind. It’s for the best. Don’t force it, and be patient. Not showing up because she was in an accident is one thing. It’s another when she chooses not to be with me. That’s what will happen if I keep on the gas with her. I’ll drive her away instead of into my arms.
Wasn’t the purpose of this trip to clear my head? I should probably start working on it. That, and the new song I was strumming last night. I have seven days until I walk into the studio. I plan to get at least one track on the album. It would be even better if I could add multiple.
I walk around to the side of the house and then trek to the storage barn where my parents house the generator. Unlocking the door, I let myself in and snoop around through the stuff we’ve collected. Floats that haven’t been used in years and two paddleboards that probably couldn’t fight off the water anymore. A smaller ATV I used to explore the woods in when I was younger. It’s filled with a lot of history and even more junk.
The generator has done a good job, but when I dust it off, it’s showing its age as a teenager. I bend down to check the gauges, even tapping one that seems to have stopped.
“Laird?”
I turn back and then stand upright. Seeing Poppy bundled in a coat with that damn beanie on has loosened my pent-up anger.
I’m starting to believe this time together isn’t about capturing what we once had, but more about starting over. I hope she gives us a chance. “This gauge isn’t working. The generator might not hold. It hasn’t been serviced for some years since we’re rarely up here.”
“What happens if it goes out?” She comes into the barn but stops shy of getting too close.
“The forecast clears, but we won’t have electricity for a few days. Not until we can get someone out to look at it or it’s restored through Deer Lake Energy.”
A few more steps are taken, and she stops again. “The food in the refrigerator will go bad.”
“It’s replaceable. We’ll be safe. That’s what matters.”
Though we’re here with our gazes fastened together, and by the sounds of our voices, unsure of where the other stands in this mess, she closes the gap and grabs my sleeve. “I’m not the outdoor kind of girl, but I can appreciate it.”
One confession deserves another. “I prefer the beach to the mountains, but I couldn’t find my bearings in the sand anymore.”
“That’s equally sad and beautiful. That could be a song lyric.”
“Well, might as well be open about this trip. My sister and cousin,” I say, running my hand over the back of my head. I look away in disgrace. They’ve been taking the heat for my behavior. “And everyone I work with recommended I take a vacation. I had no choice.”