Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
I didn’t realize his thing about crowds was so serious.
“Y’know what?” I say, coming to his rescue, “Coffee was such a lame idea. And that place is a bit … muggy.”
He smirks at me. “That a coffee pun?”
It takes me a second. “Why not. Though Chatty Cat doesn’t serve coffee in mugs. Yet. Should we … go for a walk, maybe?”
He nods sideways at the glass. “What about your hot cocoa?”
“Already forgotten it.” Then I start off down the sidewalk.
In a blink, he’s by my side.
Can’t say I remember the last time I strolled next to anyone around town. Let alone someone like him who, with every waking minute spent in his presence, keeps my heart aflight. I don’t seem to stop learning things about him. And the more the box opens, the more there is inside.
“Born and raised here?” he asks.
I clear my throat. And my head. “Yep and yep.”
“Seems really peaceful. Welcoming.” His eyes wander over the buildings on Main Street, which we’ve turned onto. This time of day, middle of the week, it’s mercifully quiet and devoid of the usual bustling crowds. “Not seeing the quicksand so much yet.”
“It’s still early in the day,” I reason.
“You’re determined to prove how miserable this place is,” he notes with humor.
“It’s …” I cross my arms and chuckle it off. “It’s not miserable. I like my life here. For the most part.”
“Saw two dudes kissin’ in front of the church the other day.”
“Not usually the first thing you encounter in a small Texas town, huh?” I reconsider my earlier words. “I guess I sound … a bit ungrateful. The day I finally come out and end all of the possible speculating, I know I’ll be able to be myself. No matter which way you turn, there’s a friend. Shouldn’t I be more grateful?”
“Sounds like you’ve got more love inside you for this old town than you realize.”
“Love can be a trap, too.”
He frowns. “You sure you don’t listen to Chase Holt?”
“Why? Is that one of his lyrics?”
“Could be. I should jot that down.”
I snort. “What do you plan to do? Fold it into a paper airplane and fling it onstage during his next show? Or sneak backstage into his dressing room and offer it to him in person?”
My question seems to cause something inside him to squirm. Is it at the prospect of actually interacting with Chase directly? Just the thought makes me laugh suddenly, causing him to shoot me a look. “What?” he blurts.
“You’re such a diehard,” I say through my laughter. “I bet you would faint if you ever ended up in a room alone with him.”
He scratches a spot on his neck, then twists his lips into a cute and challenging smirk. “Who says I haven’t already?”
“That funny look you’re making.”
Now he’s gone from squirming to total poker face. “I guess I can see what you’re saying, about love and traps and all. Loyalty isn’t a bad thing, but …” He peers at me. “You ever wonder if you love somethin’ so dang much, you can’t tell if it’s love anymore, or if you’re just … too afraid to find out what you are without it?”
My walking slows.
Life without Spruce.
Without my parents’ doting smiles. Or that cute new office. Or a future of spreadsheets, contact numbers, and tractor manuals.
Life without automatically returning to T&S’s every break.
No catching up with friends at the Strong Fitness Zone. Or my old friends from high school I grew up with.
What am I without all of this? Do I even still exist?
“Timothy?”
I blink. We’ve both come to a stop, apparently, right outside Biggie’s Bites, which looks especially quiet right now. Might even be an ideal place to sneak in and have some lunch, if either one of us works up an appetite.
But not now. I’m so far away from wanting to eat a thing.
I drop the tension from my face. “Without this place, I’d still be the same me … right? My road trip was supposed to prove that. You can take the boy out of Spruce. And perhaps even the Spruce out of the boy, too.” I keep on walking, feeling like that settles it.
Austin is by my side again. “You sure ‘bout that?”
“Of course I am. Don’t I sound it?”
“Well …”
“And how about you?” I ask, throwing it right back at him. “Is there an ocean of quicksand you’re trying to sidestep around?”
His hands find his pockets again. “I dunno. Maybe.” He nudges me with his elbow. “Wanna be the stick I grab to pull myself out?”
“Sure, if you’ll be mine.”
“Deal.”
I wonder if either of us intended for that to sound as intense as it did. But he just chuckles and faces forward as we continue on down the road, and I try to brush it off as easily.
Despite feeling like we just struck a truce.