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)
40
Breezy
The scent of grilled steak and cold Vermont air mingle as I trail after Norah through the yard, the heels of my boots sinking into damp grass. She’s carrying a massive bowl of salad like it’s the Hope Diamond, and I pull up beside her, lowering my voice even though there’s no one else within ten feet.
“Quick question,” I say, tugging lightly on her sleeve. “Why exactly are we having dinner out on the lawn with heaters, in forty-degree weather, while you’ve got a twelve-person dining table inside?”
Norah cranes her neck toward me like I’m the one being unreasonable. “Oh. Yeah. Well. Technically, Bennett still says Logan isn’t allowed in the house. So, technically, this isn’t in the house.”
A shocked laugh leaves my lungs. “Norah.”
“What?” She just shrugs. “Plus, there’s no need to worry about Grandma’s china, so I’d say, overall, it’s a win.”
“Norah.”
She’s already sidestepping me, moving toward the long table set up under the string lights. “I’ve gotta get this salad down and grab the sides. Make yourself comfortable. There are drinks by the firepit.”
Behind me, Tad brushes a hand along my back as he passes, his fingers warm through my sweater. The touch is easy and natural and reminds me of how good the past two days of living together have been. I’m honestly starting to feel like we could give this real couple thing a run.
He’s been fun and flirty and attentive, and I’ve done my best not to put up my usual force fields. Of course, we haven’t dived into the deepest, darkest pools of intimacy and secrets, but it seems like somewhere we’ll get eventually.
It honestly feels like we’re only growing closer with each day.
I catch his grin as he moves toward the drink station, pretending not to eavesdrop, and I shake my head before following Norah again.
“Listen, Norah,” I say, keeping my voice low as we stop by the table she’s busy filling with food. “I know you want to heal the relationship with my brothers, but as the woman who’s been in the middle of their crisis management for going on two decades, I have to tell you, it’s not easily solved. Maybe we’re better off just letting them hold their own space rather than forcing them together.”
“Maybe,” Norah agrees, flitting toward the table while I follow her. “But we’re going to try this first. And who knows? Maybe it’ll fix Bennett and Logan’s relationship and yours and Logan’s too. Stranger things have happened, you know,” she singsongs.
I sigh. Goodness, she’s feeling way too hopeful.
“Logan wants to be here,” she adds, setting the salad beside a bouquet of withering roses, little ice crystals forming in the water of their vase, and spinning to face me before lowering her voice. “He wants a relationship with you and with Bennett. And I know he’s wronged both of you, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not here to be an enemy anymore.”
“I hear you, I do. No one wants my brothers to find a way back to a relationship more than I do, but some burned bridges cannot be rebuilt.” I swallow, the turmoil of my own conflict with Logan over Bishop Galleries edging in. Hell, even the massive bridge my father burned is mere ashes now with absolutely no chance at closure. I mean, he’s dead. I can’t talk or sort anything out with him. I literally just have to live with the deceit and find a way to make my own peace with it.
Norah starts to open her mouth, most likely to refute, but I keep going. “I’ve only gotten a little taste of the bitterness Bennett has been feeling toward Logan for years, but I still have to actively work not to smack our youngest brother upside the head.” I reach up and squeeze her bicep. “Just…don’t get your hopes set too high on a miracle, okay?”
“I promise. I’ll manage my expectations.” She nods and steps away from me, calling back toward the house, “Lillian, can you bring the dressing, please?”
Shaking my head, I drop the clearly futile subject and move on to interest in Norah’s Manhattanite best friend. “How is Lil enjoying Red Bridge this visit? Thinking about moving here too? If she does, we could be making a dent in the NYC census within a couple of years.”
Norah scoffs. “Yeah, I don’t know about that. Earlier today, in the middle of Main Street, during the Spring Fling Cider Festival, she used the word ‘desolate’ as a descriptor.”
I laugh, of course, envisioning myself saying the exact same thing on every other visit I’ve ever made to my brother’s sleepy Vermont town. It’s funny how a big life change can shift your perspective entirely. Red Bridge’s population isn’t vast, but the warmth of its hug is unparalleled. There aren’t even a fraction of the people here who are in New York—but they care so much more.