Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“There was. I didn’t know it existed.”
“Well, yes.” I fought back a bubble of laughter. “But they were quite happy with my explanation that our relationship is relatively new, and you chose to introduce me that way.”
“I thought you weren’t going to lie and blame me.”
“I wasn’t, but then I was there, and they looked so happy I didn’t want to break their hearts.”
“You’re just feeding the beast.”
“Well, if you’d led with your title, we wouldn’t be here now.”
“I have to admit, I’m not mad that we are,” he said, looking over at me. “I was looking at some photos earlier.”
I scrunched up my nose. “You didn’t find my Bebo account, did you?”
“Your what—no.” He shook his head, laughing. “God, does that website still exist?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know, honestly. What were you looking at?”
“Believe it or not, photos of us as children.”
I stopped in the middle of the path and stared at him. He turned to look back at me with his eyebrows raised, and I blinked several times in quick succession.
“You have pictures of us as kids?” I asked.
He picked up the ball and threw it again for Bruce who shot off after it. “Apparently so. Dad scanned all our physical photos onto a big family drive a few years ago. I woke up early and didn’t want to disturb you, so I went downstairs and thought I’d see if there were any of us. I wasn’t expecting there to be any, honestly.”
“But there is?”
“Can you walk and talk at the same time?” He motioned for me to follow him. “I found a few from what I think might have been your eighth birthday party.”
“That’s… weird,” I said, hurrying to fall back into step alongside him. “I’m not sure even I have those. Dad took a lot of the family photos after Mum died and I never asked to see them.”
“Do you not have any? Of your mum, even?”
“I have some. Honestly, I was a bratty teenager who hated everything and everyone around her after my mum died. I despised having to play happy families with my dad and Carmen and pretend like I was best friends with my kid brother,” I admitted, crossing my arms over my chest as we walked. “When I left for university, Dad gave me a small shoebox filled with some photos he thought I’d want, but I didn’t look through them all. They were family photos, and I was still too angry about everything.”
“That’s understandable. What if I told you I have some of your mum?”
“You have photos of her?”
“From your birthday party at least. At least I assume it’s your party. It was at Loxford House, and Freya thinks that’s about right. It’s pretty sunny and everyone is in summer clothes.”
“My birthday is in July.”
“Then it fits.” He smiled at me, and his blue eyes were full of warmth. “We can look through them before you leave, and I’ll ask Mum if there are any others we can send you.”
“Thank you.” I dropped my gaze to the uneven ground in front of me. “Do you think it’s weird that we have a history like that?”
“I think it’s weird we can’t remember any of it.”
“We were kids. I can remember a few things that make sense now, but I doubt I’d have been able to pick you or anyone else out of a line up. It’s not like we have unique names, either.”
“That’s true,” he agreed. “I know at least three Graces and two other Wills.”
“Exactly. Memories are weird things. I sometimes don’t know if I’m actually remembering stuff with Mum or if I’m making those memories up, so not remembering you seems pretty normal as far as things go.”
“That makes a lot of sense. I guess it’s no different to remembering a certain event in your childhood but not getting the details right.”
“Right. Like I could swear I got a toy kitchen for my third birthday, but Dad always insisted it was for my fourth. I asked Granny, and she agreed with him. I’d still swear on my life I was three when I got it.”
William laughed, continuing to throw the ball for Bruce. “I can imagine how fun those conversations are. But no, I don’t think it’s weird that we met again after all that time, if that’s what you’re really asking.”
“You don’t? Don’t tell me you believe it was all meant to be or something like that.”
He shrugged. “There are a lot of things linking us together, if you think about it. Our paths would have probably crossed sooner or later.”
“I suppose. Probably in a week or so at Eric’s funeral.”
“Are you going?”
“Dad asked me to. Well, it was an order disguised as a request,” I said, looking around at the beautiful landscape coated in white. “Isn’t your arm sore yet?”