Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
He lets out a sigh while pulling me into a hug and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “If you come to Naperville and you put some distance between yourself and this town, you’ll start getting better.”
I close my eyes, and not responding to what he says, I just stand still in his embrace.
Jordan will never understand.
After a few minutes, he lets go of me, and I finish preparing our tea before handing him a cup.
“Chamomile?” he asks as he follows me to the living room.
“Yes.”
Mom’s favorite.
I move the blanket and pillow to the side and sit down on the couch. Jordan takes a seat beside me, and we stare at the black TV screen and the window that looks out onto the front yard.
“The grass is getting long,” Jordan mentions.
“I’ll cut it tomorrow.”
“Want me to do it?” he asks, his tone soft as if the fight has left him.
It always happens when he spends time with me. My depression rubs off on him, and I hate it.
“No,” I reply, my tone hollow. “It’s something to do to keep me busy.”
Everything feels devastatingly empty around us. It’s as if I stopped living the night our parents and Sage died. I barely manage to exist.
At least Jordan still has Natalie and Brady to live for.
“You don’t have to drive out here anymore,” I whisper.
“Don’t start,” he grumbles.
“The phone calls are fine.” My fingertip traces the rim of the cup.
“Drop it, Kelcie. Driving from Naperville to Verona once a month won’t kill me.”
The moment the word leaves his mouth, my body jerks, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” He lifts his arm and wraps it around my shoulders. “I like the drive. It gives me some time alone.”
“Okay.”
“Talking about driving. Have you taken your car for its yearly service?”
I give him a sheepish look. “I haven’t driven in a long while. It probably won’t even start.”
Jordan lets out a sigh as he climbs to his feet. “Come on. Let me take a look.”
“You don’t have to. I can ask Malakai or Asher to check the battery.” The brothers took over the gas station and auto repair shop from their father when Mr. Woods retired.
Ignoring me, Jordan asks, “Where are the keys?”
I walk to the kitchen and pull open a drawer I use as storage for random things. I dig around, and finding the keys, I hand them to him before reluctantly following him to the garage.
While watching Jordan tinker with the battery, I stifle a yawn. I usually sleep between twelve and six in the afternoon. Since the attack, I sit up every night as if I’m waiting for the killers to come back, even though I know they’re locked away.
When my thoughts threaten to go down the dark path that leads to the worst night of my life, I shake my head and force myself to focus on Jordan.
“Yeah, the battery’s dead,” he mutters. “I’ll go get a new one quickly.”
“You don’t have to. I don’t use the car much. I’ll get it done when I need to drive somewhere. Getting a new one will be a waste of money.”
I can see Jordan isn’t happy with leaving the car like this, but he doesn’t say anything.
The doorbell rings, and my head snaps up.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Jordan asks.
“No. It’s probably Jill or Holly.” We leave the garage, and when I open the front door, Maggie Johnson smiles at me. She’s in her late sixties, her gray hair caught in a neat bun. She’s one of the sweetest people I know.
Holding up a pie, she says, “It’s cherry. I made too many for the inn and thought you’d like one.”
Maggie owns Sugar River Inn, and since the actor Easton Rowe stayed there and signed her wall, the place has become a favorite destination for his fans. I know she’s made time in her busy day to check in on me because it’s the one-year anniversary, and it warms my heart.
“Hi, Maggie,” Jordan greets her from behind me.
“Hi, Jordan. It’s so good to see you.”
I take the pie and smile. “Thanks, Maggie. It’s really kind of you.”
She gives us a compassionate look. “How are you both holding up?”
I turn sideways so Jordan can move closer, and let him answer, “We’re doing okay. Thanks for the pie. How’s business?”
“I don’t know if I’m coming or going. I have to hire more staff, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.”
Old me would’ve offered to help, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. Instead, I stand with the pie in my hands and a strained smile around my lips.
“I have to get back to the inn,” Maggie says, her eyes softening even more when she looks at me. “Don’t hesitate to call on me if you need anything.”
I nod. “Thanks, Maggie.”