Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“Thanks, I appreciate that. Cybil’s best friend and her mom are here now, and with the two of them around, Cybil and I have to fight for time with Claire.”
I laugh. “A blessing and a curse.”
“Yeah.” He smiles and looks at Blake as he comes around the desk to sit down; then his eyes come back to me. “So I’m guessing things with you two are good.”
“Don’t start,” Blake rumbles while my cheeks warm.
“So don’t give you shit about your relationship with Everly the way you gave me shit about me and Cybil getting together?”
“I would appreciate, if you do give him shit, that you do it when I’m not around,” I say, and he looks at me and laughs. “I’m serious.”
“I know.” He gets up, then pats Blake on the shoulder. “I’m gonna head into town so I can get back home to my girls.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Blake stands, then comes around to me, and I tip my head back when he leans down to give me a kiss. “Call and let me know when you’re about ready to head home, and I’ll make sure I’m back to follow you to your parents’.”
“Okay, I’ll let you know.” I accept one more kiss, then look at Tanner. “Give Cybil and Claire hugs from me.”
“Will do.” He gives me a salute, then heads out the door with Blake on his heels. With the two of them gone, I pick up my phone and call my mom to let her know that Blake and I will be meeting Ginny and Jeff tomorrow morning; then I tell her our plans for dinner. Before I hang up, I somehow end up agreeing to her and Dad joining us, which should make tonight a little more interesting than it would have been otherwise.
“Baby, you can’t eat all of that.” I laugh when Sam grabs a hunk of bread out of my hand and attempts to shove the whole thing into his mouth.
“No, no, no, da, da,” he cries, throwing himself back against Blake’s chest as I wrestle it from his grasp.
“Sorry, baby, but you can only have a little bite.” I break off a small piece and place it into his mouth. He garbles something as he chews it up and reaches for more, then gets annoyed when I only give him another small bite.
“I don’t blame him—I want to shove all the bread into my mouth too,” Mom says, dipping a chunk into the olive oil and balsamic mixture that’s in a little dish on the table, and Dad chuckles next to her.
“The only reason I’m not eating it all is because I know I’ll regret filling up on bread when my dinner gets here,” I tell her as Blake saves his beer from being knocked over by Sam’s fist when he reaches for the bread basket. “Maybe we should put him in the chair,” I suggest.
“I got him,” he says, and I shake my head at him.
“I know you got him, but I think it will be easier if he’s in the chair,” I tell him, and he wraps his hand around the back of my neck, massaging it while also ignoring me. I roll my eyes, then meet my mom’s gaze and see the smile on her face.
“So are you prepared for the meeting tomorrow morning?” Dad asks, picking up his glass of whiskey, and I shrug.
“I don’t know if I’m prepared, but I want it done and over with. I just hope that Ginny doesn’t say anything about Sam not being Lex’s again, because I might just lose my mind if she does.”
“I know you said you don’t want me to go with you, but I don’t mind showing up.”
“I know.” I give Sam another piece of bread. “I just . . . I know you have to work and—”
“Everly May Standler,” he says, cutting me off. “Your mom and I have made it clear that we are here for you. You’re not a burden; you’re our child.” He looks at Sam. “Think about how you would feel if Sam were in this situation. You’d want to be there for him, and you’d never consider it a hindrance to have his back.”
I look at Sampson, who I know I will always do everything in my power to protect, no matter his age. “You’re right,” I say softly, meeting my dad’s gaze.
“I know I am.” Dad shakes his head.
“Okay then, I would like you to be there.” His shoulders visibly relax, and Mom pats his chest while giving me a look that clearly says she’s as relieved as my dad is. “I’m sorry for not asking you to come sooner.”
“You asked now, so it’s done,” Dad says simply, which I know means he’s not open to me saying more about it.
“Dinner is served.” Our waitress breaks into the moment, stopping at the edge of the table with a large tray covered with steaming dishes, and a man behind her places a stand for her to rest it on. After she passes things around the table, we settle into a conversation about the lodge and work and everyday life.