Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Boys. Boys?
Annoying but still not worth fighting. “A week, two at most. Wrapping up on the left side of the street, a few things still to do out on the right side. Why?”
Jed’s jaw goes tight, and his smile looks forced. “Lucy-Juicy, go looky-wooky at the kitchen again. Make us up a little listy-wisty for the grocery store so that baby-waby has plenty to eat.” He rubs her belly fondly. “We can pick up one of those box mattresses too—the ones that unroll and fluff right up—because me and my baby ain’t sleeping on the floor.”
She groans and laughingly tells me, “This baby makes me so hungry. I’m starving all the time! Craving lime tortilla chips dipped in ketchup morning, noon, and night.”
“That sounds . . . disgusting,” I admit, and she giggles before bounding off to the kitchen as instructed.
Once we’re alone, Jed turns into the surly son of a bitch I’m used to, and I wonder if he’s putting on a show for Lucy or if she truly is the only human being in the world who can make him into a normal person. Well, if baby talking, cooing, and lovey-dovey are considered normal.
“Look, Jesse . . . this divorce is gonna be messy as hell. Chrissy is a bit sore with me and being ridiculous. She’s threatening to go after the whole damn construction company. My company! And in response, the city won’t approve any more permits for us until the division of properties is settled.”
Before the ramifications of that sink in, Jed adds, “The last permits approved are for the current street. After that, I’m not sure where we’ll assign you and your crews.”
“What?” I bark. “We’re not finishing?”
“You will,” Jed promises me. “Just not right away. I’ve got to sort the shit with Chrissy out.”
That sounds like an indefinite delay if ever I heard one—waiting for Jed and Chrissy to agree on a dispersion of assets? There’s no telling how long that could take on a good day, but given the present circumstances and Chrissy’s anger, it’s going to be a cold day in hell with ice sculptures of pigs flying before we get back to work here.
“What about the people waiting to move in?” I demand hotly.
His brows drop down in confusion. Of course he doesn’t give a shit. The people of Cold Springs who need these townhomes are of no concern to Jed. “What about them? They’ll buy when we’re ready to sell. Maybe in the meantime, the market will go in our favor a bit.”
He chuckles, as if that was a good joke. It’s no such thing when the entirety of the housing market centers around Ford Construction Company.
I fake a smile, mad that I even have to do so but aware of how important Township is for the entire town. “Sure,” I agree tightly. “What about the crews? No pay when there’s a pause for an undetermined length of time?”
Jed shrugs like that’s a stupid question. “Benefit of having contractors, not employees, right?”
My jaw is so tight that my teeth are in jeopardy of cracking. Guess it’s a good fucking thing I’ve got dental insurance with my salaried position for Ford Construction, I think bitterly. My guys won’t be so lucky.
Taking my silence as agreement, Jed says, “Good work, boy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a little lady waiting on me.”
He skips—or what he probably thinks skipping looks like—out of the bedroom and toward the kitchen. “Jeddie-Weddie is coming, lovebug!”
Blech. I’ve got to get out of here.
Chapter 11
WREN
I raise my glass of sparkling lime water high in the air. Avery lifts hers, too, while Hazel and Grandpa Joe hold up beer bottles. “To good friends, good food, and good—”
“Fucks,” Grandpa Joe finishes gleefully. When we glare at him, he shrugs and explains, “Starts with f, and you can’t tell me you weren’t thinking it.”
Avery swats his arm gently. “Nobody was thinking it but you, you dirty old man.”
Hazel takes a quick drink of her beer, looking at the ceiling a little too innocently. She definitely was thinking along the same lines as Grandpa Joe. But when she swallows, she laughingly scolds him too. “Yeah, we’re not supposed to talk about s-e-x because Wren’s the only one of us not getting any.”
I choke on my water. “What? I am not!” When Hazel grins at me triumphantly, I correct myself, “I mean . . . I am too? Wait . . . what? I don’t know if I’m supposed to answer in the positive or the negative here to be right.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be one of those hotshot lawyers who always drops the Michael at the right time?” Grandpa Joe teases.
“Drop the mic, Gramps,” Avery amends. “Like microphone, not Mike.”
Grandpa Joe guffaws that Avery took the bait of his silly joke and digs into his lasagna. I notice he’s using a spoon instead of a fork and holding it fist-style to basically shovel the food into his mouth. It’s a definite change in his dexterity, but at least he’s feeding himself and has a solid appetite. I’m sure Avery is measuring every bite, monitoring how easily he swallows, and counting every calorie to make sure he gets enough.