Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
I was a fool for thinking all of it.
For so long now, I’ve ached for Iris. Dreamed about her. Kicked myself for not being brave enough to match her openness. Fantasized about including her in my new life. Indeed, with each passing day, I became more and more certain not only was I ready to follow in my cousin Marco’s footsteps and settle down, but I was excited to do exactly that. The only question is whether my yearning for Iris is reliable enough to act upon. To gamble on, long-term. So, here I am in Orchard Blossom, with my parents and Maverick, intending to do whatever it takes to answer that question with certainty.
“Dinner was so delicious, Mrs. Maguire,” Iris says to my mother across the table. “I’d love to get your recipe.” She’s referring to the the impressive seafood pasta dish with homemade linguini my mother served this evening. It’s her specialty—a time-consuming masterpiece Mom only bothers making on special occasions or when she wants to impress someone.
“Only if you give me this pie recipe,” Mom replies to Iris. “It’s the best apple pie I’ve ever tasted.”
Iris blushes. “It’s my mother’s recipe. She grew up in Orchard Blossom, so baking and cooking with apples was a specialty of hers.”
Mom palms her forehead. “Orchard Blossom! I didn’t put it together till now there must be orchards nearby.”
Iris laughs. “Lots of them. Washington produces more apples than any other state in the country. It’s not prime apple-picking season yet, but some nearby orchards have perennials, so we could check them out while you’re here.”
“I’d love to,” Mom gushes. “What about you, Mav? Do you want to pick apples off a tree with Iris?”
“Can I eat dem?” Maverick asks.
“Of course,” Iris says. “An orchard has apple trees as far as you can see, so you can eat as many apples as you can fit into your belly.”
“I love apples,” Maverick exclaims with a grin.
“Then, let’s do it,” Iris says. “I’ll pack us a picnic and we’ll make a day of it. The countryside over there is really beautiful.”
Without hesitation, my shy boy launches into an energetic conversation with Iris about the picnic episode of his favorite show, Bluey. And that’s how I know my boy’s every bit as enamored with Iris as me: He doesn’t get chatty like this with everyone.
As Maverick chats excitedly with Iris, I notice Mom smirking at Dad in a way I’ve seen countless times. She’s gloating. Nonverbally saying something along the lines of “I told you so.” If I were a betting man, which I am, I’m guessing Mom predicted Maverick would fall head over heels in love with Iris. Or hell, for all I know, maybe my parents’ bet was about me, and Mom already thinks she’s won it.
When Maverick’s dissertation about Bluey ends, Mom smiles pleasantly at me and says, “Roman, honey, take Iris outside for an after-dinner stroll, while Dad and I do the dishes and put Mav to bed. I noticed the stars are out in full force tonight.”
“Let me do the dishes,” Iris says. “You cooked dinner.”
Mom waves at the air and tells a bald-faced lie. “No, no, Edward and I love doing dishes together.” In truth, my parents have a maid who does dishes after Mom cooks. That was my Christmas present to Mom last year, since I know she loves cooking but hates cleaning up. “Now, go on,” Mom says with a wwshoo of her hands. “The sky is bursting with stars tonight. It’d be rude to let them go to waste.”
“Rude?” I ask, laughing.
“To God. He put them there for you to enjoy, darling. So, get out there and enjoy them.”
“Your mom was right,” Iris says, as we walk hand in hand down a quiet lane and look up at the night sky. “The stars are extra spectacular tonight. So beautiful.”
I gaze at Iris as she continues stargazing. “Beautiful.”
“When the stars are out like this,” Iris continues, still looking up, “I feel so tiny—but in a good way. Feeling so tiny makes my problems feel tiny, too.”
I’ve been dying to kiss her since I laid eyes on her in that horse stall today. She looked like a walking wet dream in those dusty jeans and boots. But other than kissing her, I’m determined to take things as slow as molasses this week. All that amazing sex we had in Hawaii? It never happened. I already know sex with Iris is a dangerous drug—the best sex of my life, by far. What I don’t know, however, and what I came to Orchard Blossom to find out, is whether the intense, all-encompassing feelings I came to feel for Iris in Kauai almost two months ago, the ones that crept up on me and haven’t faded over time and distance, are powered by more than my dick.