Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I grin at Hartley. “I have recognized that, believe it or not.”
He chuckles. “He’s happy with you around.”
I flinch, pulling away from him to get a better look at his face. Surely, he’s joking. “I think he’s just happy to be home.”
“No, I think it’s you.” He smiles at me. “You’re good for him. And you must have the patience of a saint to put up with his shit, so thank you for that.”
“He’s not that bad.” Now that we’ve stopped fighting all the time, anyway. The thought makes me curious, and I take a swallow of beer to help make me bold. “Can I ask you something, Hartley?”
“Sure.”
“Before Gray came to Nashville, he had a reputation for being … difficult. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the headlines written about him.”
He nods, staring off into the distance.
“I’m having a hard time making sense of the fact that the Gray in those reports is the Gray I see in Nashville, who is the same Gray that’s here tonight. So what gives?”
Hartley leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him. His palms scratch down his thighs like I’ve seen Gray do a million times. All the while, I pray silently that I haven’t overstepped my bounds and put my nose where it doesn’t belong.
“My dad always said two things when it came to other people,” Hartley says, drawing his attention back to me. “The first was to always give people the benefit of the doubt. Think the best of them, if at all possible. The second was that the way someone treats you is who they are. You judge them based on what you see and not what you hear.”
There’s a depth to his gaze, drawing me into the moment, making me contemplate his words. It’s a steady, gentle look that still holds a magnificent amount of weight. He thinks what he’s said is important and clearly wants me to understand that.
Point received.
The band begins to play on the stage, which is just the bed of a semi-truck with a few plants and advertisements from local businesses hanging from it. The song they start with is an oldie but a goodie. I recall it playing at my grandma’s house when I was a little girl.
I sigh, swaying softly to the music and contemplating Hartley’s words. There’s more to it than meets the eye, but I can’t sort through the beer-induced fog well enough to get to the nugget of truth.
“Astrid, do you want another beer? Bottle of water? Anything?” Gray asks, suddenly appearing at my side.
I smile up at him. “The ground is already a little wobbly, so I think I’ve had enough.”
“I’m going to go grab another one. Be right back.”
Hartley stands. “I’ll go with you.”
Couples begin to dance on the closed road in front of the stage, their arms draped around each other. Everyone in Sugar Creek seems so … happy. No one is rushed or busy. Even the children who speed by—all hyped up on candy—seem to be living their best life. It’s a relief—better than I could’ve imagined.
A long, deep breath fills my lungs, going deeper than any breath has managed in a long time. It slows my heartbeat in a way that yoga, medication, and a caffeine-free lifestyle all failed to accomplish. How is that possible?
“You.” Brooks’s smile is full of mischief as he sets his sights on me. “Come on.”
“Excuse me?”
“Dance with me.”
Dance with him? I glance over my shoulder and spot Gray watching us. “I think I’ll wait here.”
Brooks leans closer, giving me a wicked grin. “Look, as Gray’s best friend and the only person who probably knows him better than he knows himself, you need to dance with me. Sometimes it takes a little competition to spur men into action.”
I laugh, leaning forward on my elbows. “You see, Brooks, for that to be true, you must assume that Gray hasn’t already sprung into action or that I want him to.”
“You see, Astrid, I know he hasn’t sprung into action because I’ve been talking to you for three minutes and I can still chew my food properly.” He chuckles. “And I know damn good and well you want him to because if there’s anyone that I can read better than Gray, it’s women.”
“Oh, please,” I say, laughing. “You don’t have a confidence problem, do you?”
He leans back and holds out his hand. “What’s not to be confident about? Now, are you going to dance with me or not?”
I glance at Gray again. He has a marker in his hand, signing a shirt for a little boy. An older woman is standing entirely too close to Gray to be comfortable, and Gray’s clearly not happy about it—the tension in his body proves that—but he’s occupied.
“Fine,” I say, getting to my feet. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”