Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
That angered me as well.
“We’ll make it okay,” I promised.
His eyes sharpened. “We will?”
“Is the invitation still open to move in?” I asked carefully.
His eyes gleamed. “Yes.”
“Then we’ll make it okay,” I said softly.
His eyes studied my face for a long moment before he said, “Does this mean that you’re mine?”
“I wouldn’t be moving in otherwise,” I pointed out. “What kind of crazy person moves into a man’s house she claimed to hate only a month ago?”
“One that knows I love her.”
My heart kicked at that declaration. “You do?”
He tapped the tip of my nose. “You love me, too.”
That knowledge settled deep into my bones.
“Hey,” I said.
He looked over at me from across the table. “Yeah?”
“I was thinking on the way over here. This being Joe’s senior year…have you scheduled her senior photos yet?”
He frowned. “Senior photos?”
Oh, boy.
I flashed him a grin. “Yeah, they’re a thing. You take professional portraits of your seniors. They take fun, exciting shots. And the photographer follows her around doing all her favorite things. But I was wondering…would y’all want to take them before she gets too big pregnant? I’m not saying that it’s a bad thing. But I think she might want to remember this part of her life not huge pregnant.”
He tapped his lips. “Where does one find a photographer for that?”
I snorted. “Actually, I know someone that might know. I’m sure there are quite a few here seeing as it’s a tourist trap. But I want to find a local one that’s actually good at what she does.”
“Then I’ll leave that in your capable hands.” He sat back as Bernice came over with our food.
“Hey, anything missing?”
Denver and I both shook our heads. “Nope.”
She smiled. “Enjoy. I have to get back to the counter. This place is nuts right now.”
She was right.
It was always busy during lunch.
Honestly, we should’ve been waiting here for at least another fifteen minutes, but Denver got preferential treatment seeing as Hux’s parents loved Denver like a son.
Denver dug into his sandwich with gusto, and I followed suit much slower than him.
I was about halfway through my first half of my sandwich when the bell over The Mercantile’s entrance dinged.
I looked up to find none other than my mother walking in with her high-heeled shoes and her too-short dress.
And cameras following her.
“What the fuck,” I grumbled as I shoved several chips into my mouth.
Denver looked at me, then at the door, and his brows lowered dangerously.
I took another bite of my food, hoping that my mother wouldn’t spot me.
But no such luck.
“My baby!”
I hunched my shoulders and prayed that she wouldn’t bring those damn cameras over here.
But, alas, my mother was just that bad.
And did the very thing that I hoped she wouldn’t.
She strode right on up to my table and said, “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my baby girl.”
That’s when Denver stood up, and the cameramen were forced to step back.
“Georgina,” Denver said carefully. “She doesn’t want you here. She doesn’t want to do fake small talk with you. She doesn’t want to see your face at all. You’re a reminder of what sucked about her childhood. So take your fake ass ‘my baby’ bullshit and get out of here. Leave town, and don’t come back. There’s nothing left for you here.” He paused. “Unless you have a check to drop off for her. If I remember right, you stole a million and a half dollars from her dad. Then her life insurance check for her father’s death on top of that…”
Inhales were swift all around us.
“Is that true?” The man standing beside the cameras came into view, his fake Hollywood tan standing out. “You owe money to your daughter?”
“Oh, that’s nothing.” My mother tried to wave it off.
“It’s nothing to be a million and a half behind in child support?” Denver scoffed. “Or, how about stealing? Abandonment? Envy? You’re a joke. Get the fuck out.”
“Please leave.” Bernice came by then. “As the manager of The Mercantile, I have a right to refuse service to anyone. And you’re disturbing my customers.”
“But we’re filming a reality show!” my mother tried. “They want to see where I grew up.”
“Well, then you should take them by the trailer park on the east side of town when you head out,” someone called. “From what I understand, you were livin’ there with barely a penny to your name. Didn’t your mother send you out into the world in a fancy dress and tell you to sleep your way to the top?”
“No, I think that was a Reba song,” someone else called. “But she did grow up in that trailer park.”
My mother’s face flamed.
She marched out, and the cameramen remained.
“Is that true?” Hollywood Ken asked.
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and said, “My mother grew up in a single-wide trailer that was built in the fifties. She didn’t graduate high school—not that that’s a bad thing—and decided to pursue Hollywood. She left out of here at sixteen and didn’t come back until she’d made a name for herself using her looks and her lips—both sets. She came home, got knocked up, tried to make a go of it with my father, then left again when she realized that my father and I were a dead end. She never paid child support, then stole every penny to our name, including life insurance, home insurance payouts, and anything else she could get her hands on. So yes, it’s all true. She’s not a good person. But at least she’s pretty, right?”