Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
I don’t know if Bennett would have pushed the issue—his hands are a little busy scooping peanut butter and apple slices off the floor—but a knock at the front door saves me either way.
Bennett wipes his hands on a paper towel while Norah wrangles the toddler with another precarious plate. “I’ll get it, baby,” he offers, confirming all the things I know about my brother in his role as a spouse. With Norah, his hard turns soft, and his heart lives on his sleeve.
He heads from the kitchen to the foyer and opens the door, and from my vantage point on the couch, I get a perfectly clear view of the person on the other side as soon as he does.
It’s none other than Randy Hanson, the keys to my stranded car hanging on his finger. Whoops.
“Hey, Bennett,” Randy greets as he dusts snow off his boots on the front mat and holds up my car keys in the air. “Just bringing Breezy’s Rover over. She’s out front.”
Instantly, Bennett’s gaze whips from Randy to me, his brow arched, his mouth quirking in that way that says, Well, isn’t this something…
I’m a little upset with the universe for choosing right now, with a literal audience, of all times to bring Randy to Bennett’s door, but I am thankful for the fact that my car is here and, evidenced by Randy’s arrival with it, roadworthy.
“So…” Ben pauses, looking between me and Randy. “You didn’t drive here this morning?”
“She ended up—” Randy starts to chime in, but I’m very quick to cut him off, jumping up from the couch in a flash and snatching my keys from his outstretched hand.
“It’s no big deal, Ben. I had a little car trouble last night, but all’s well that ends well.” I turn directly to Randy, poising my palms together in prayer hands, my keys smashed in the middle. “Thank you, Randy. Again. Can’t say how much I appreciate it.”
“It wasn’t a problem at all, Breezy,” Randy says, and I’m grateful when he just tips his ball cap toward me and boot-scoots back down the steps and across the driveaway, headed in the direction of Tad’s on foot. Thankfully, Randy is the broody, quiet Hanson brother and not talkative Tad, who I have a feeling would have spilled each and every single bean.
As I step inside and shut the front door, I don’t miss the way Bennett’s eyes narrow at me, and I don’t give the questions that will inevitably follow time to sprout either.
“I’m going to go lie down for a bit,” I say as I head toward the guest bedroom I always stay in when I’m at my brother’s house, exhaustion and the need for excuses commingling perfectly. “Got a headache.”
“A headache, huh?” Bennett says, and I can hear his footsteps following behind me. “You think it’s from partying with Randy Hanson last night?”
“Shut up, Bennett.” I flip him the middle finger over my shoulder.
“What? It’s an honest question. I mean, he just dropped off your car, Breezy.”
“Because he’s a nice man. Unlike you!” I snap, still walking.
“I’m nice!” Bennett refutes on a laugh. “I’m very nice. Doesn’t mean I show up to random women’s houses with their car keys in tow.”
“It’d better not mean that,” I hear Norah chastise as I close the door behind me, their voices only muffling slightly. “Leave her alone, Ben. Or else.”
“Or else what, Norah?”
“Or else I’m going to kick your a-s-s,” Norah retorts smartly, which is quickly followed by shrieky laughter and an “Oh my God, stop it, Ben!”
Maybe I should be embarrassed. Maybe I should be defensive or feel like I owe an explanation. But my life is already in splinters. I’m jobless. Directionless. And there are two suitcases in the back of my Range Rover with enough clothes to last me a good month because the thought of being in New York right now, near all my usual spots—near the galleries—makes me feel like crawling out of my own skin.
At this point, what’s it matter what my brother or anyone else thinks?
Bennett could think I got rip-roaring drunk with Randy Hanson and did a naked snow dance with his flock of sheep, and I don’t think I have it in me to care.
With my life at a standstill, I’ve got bigger things to worry about.
5
Tad
Wednesday, January 13th
I like my coffee the same way I like my relationships. Hot. A little sugar. No fuss, no muss.
Red Bridge offers more in both departments, though, even if I’m not interested in consuming them. At Josie Harris’s coffee shop, CAFFEINE, you can go wild with twenty kinds of syrups and foam-art shaped like hearts, and if you’re looking for a long-term relationship, there are at least fifteen different women with the tenacity and desire to take you up on it to choose from waiting on every corner of Main Street on any given day.