Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
When he retakes his seat next to me, he pulls it closer to mine. I smile adoringly up at him, and he gives me a wink. And I know it’s all pretend. Though it won’t hurt anything to enjoy it for a while. He makes things seem fuzzy and nice. I don’t know how else to describe it. Like the world is a softer, safer, and more welcoming place with him by my side.
But the important thing is no one thinks he’s Aaron Porter. Our plan is a success.
CHAPTER SIX
No idea how early he went out, but the next morning Nash wanders down the front garden path to join us on the porch. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and birds are singing. And he’s wearing cargo shorts and tennis shoes with no shirt. His chest is slick with sweat, making him sparkle in the morning sun. “Guess who made new friends at jogging group?”
“Was it you, dear?” asks Grandma. She likes to sit on the front porch and silently judge her neighbors over a cup of coffee in the morning. It’s her version of calm at the start of the day. “You’re staring, June.”
Shit. Shoving his man nipples in my face again at this hour is indecent. I know he has enough money to buy clothes. “Sorry. I was just…never mind.”
Nash grins. “Morning, Junebug. Good to see you.”
“You should put on a shirt before you catch cold,” I say.
“Or, and hear me out here, you could take yours—”
“None of that,” says Grandma sternly. “Both of you need to behave like adults.”
“Oh, these thoughts are purely of legal age and over. You can trust me on that, Audrey.” The expression on his face…he’s just so pleased with himself. “I did morning meditation followed by jogging, and I’ve got to say, I’m basically a local at this point. I’ve been embraced into the bosom of The Bend.”
“That’s great,” I say.
“Sounds sort of like a sex position, doesn’t it?” he asks. “The bosom of the bend. Ha. By the way, there’s a potluck happening next week. Gabriella, Melanie, and Debra are hosting it in the park.”
“You want to do more socializing?” I ask in wonder.
“Come on, Junebug. It’ll be fun.”
My brows go up. “You want me to go?”
“Yes. This is how you build a life and make new friends. You regularly leave the house and talk to people and do things. And I’d be with you the entire time. We could even hold hands if you like.”
“June isn’t touchy-feely. She wasn’t hugged enough as a child,” says Grandma, who probably has a point.
But back to the socializing thing. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with people. I do, however, tend to limit my exposure to the general public. The social battery doth runneth low. Outings to the bar and coffee shop several times a week is about the sweet spot for me. Which doesn’t account for the times when I’m lonely or feel something in my life is lacking.
This is going to require more thought.
“How about I promise to slap anyone who tries to talk to you?” he jokes. “Will you come with me then?”
“Assaulting people sounds like a great way to get to meet the sheriff. These events do tend to be quite enjoyable,” says Grandma. “We should all go.”
And I know when I’m out numbered. “Okay then. Let’s do it.”
It’s worth it just to see his happiness. “I know your old friends let you down…taking the ex’s side in the breakup. But now is your chance to make new and better ones.”
“You didn’t mention anything about your friends being on his side,” says Grandma. “How hurtful.”
I shrug. “Just means they weren’t really my friends.”
“Don’t worry, Audrey, I’ve got our girl covered,” says Nash. “I was thinking I could bake a cake as our contribution to the potluck.”
“Let’s see how you go giving toast a try,” suggests Grandma.
Which is when a slick sportscar slows to a stop at the side of the road. Some cherry-red, low-slung, high-priced thing. The sort of vehicle with an engine that purrs and goes at obscene speeds.
“Who could this be?” asks Grandma.
Nash frowns.
And out of the vehicle steps a woman with legs for miles and glossy long platinum-blonde hair. She looks like she stepped off the cover of a magazine. And when she sees Nash, she flashes a brilliant smile his way.
“Carrie,” he says unhappily, as if her appearance is not exactly a surprise.
I straighten in my seat, suddenly on high alert. Like he needs or wants to be protected. And I am not jealous at all, but maybe I should get the stick just in case she needs chasing off.
The woman sashays down the garden path toward us. “Looked for you in Austin. That beach you love in Georgia. Even the trashy dive bar in West Hollywood. There wasn’t a sign of you anywhere. Talked to all of your friends, but none of them had heard a word.”