Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“I am. But, Blakely, it’s not temporary. We’re hoping to open up several more in Europe, and eventually other international locations too.”
She blinked and was silent for a couple beats before her face lit up in a grin. “I’m in!” she said.
“You’d go?”
She reached out and took my hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “In a heartbeat,” she said. “And think about it, Gage. It would be perfect. We could…” She let go of my hand and laced her own in her lap as she looked down, appearing suddenly shy. “Well, we could get to know each other as a couple away from the prying eyes of Calliope and Pelion.”
“What about your job?”
“I’m an online stylist, Gage. I can do that from anywhere. In fact, my clients would probably love it if I was pulling together their looks straight from London.”
An online stylist. I had no real idea what that was or if she was serious about it. I guess there were some things I still didn’t know about Blakely. Perhaps there was more to her than I’d ever given her credit for.
I ran a finger under my lip, considering. It would take the pressure off to explore a relationship away from the small-town gossips who’d known us all our lives. And maybe beginning something in a new and different place would help us both see each other as new and different people—help us shrug off that familial connection we’d always had.
And then when—or if—we returned to Calliope for holidays, our foundation as a couple would be well-established.
God, those terms—even though just in my own thoughts—sounded so…businesslike.
But maybe that was only because I’d begun attempting to switch gears where Blakely was concerned about ten minutes ago.
Hadn’t most of my life been planned and strategized? Of course I wanted to love my wife, but why couldn’t I set my intentions on someone who would meld seamlessly into the life stretched out before me?
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” I told her.
“I’m going out of town for a couple of weeks in the Hamptons with my parents.” Her smile was hopeful and again she reached out and took my hand in hers. “Let’s get together when I’m back. And then maybe we plan to wait until your party to make our final decision?”
That seemed pretty last-minute, but it also gave us the maximum amount of time left to think about the proposal. My gaze caught on the row of blue hydrangeas behind the gazebo and I quickly looked back at Blakely, unwilling to let my mind begin obsessing on the shades of each tiny petal. “Deal,” I said, reaching out and taking her hand and giving it a shake.
Blakely laughed, moving closer and throwing her arms around me. “Deal,” she whispered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rory
The box on the upper shelf of my closet contained an undisturbed layer of dust. I lifted it carefully and then brought it to my bed where I sat down, taking a minute to give the dogs laying at my feet a few belly rubs. I sat back against the pillows before lifting the top off what to me was a treasure chest filled with my mother’s most personal items.
I’m lost, Mom. I need your guidance.
I needed her now and this was all I had. Even though it’d been a long time since I’d held it, the diary on top with the soft leather cover still felt familiar in my hand. My heart squeezed with the echo of grief as I opened it. I missed her desperately. The pages were filled with my mother’s loopy handwriting, musings I’d read enough that I could still practically recite them from memory. This particular one began when I was two weeks old, the other diaries piled in the box recounting my mother’s life beginning in her teen years until a few days before she died of an aneurysm—a tragic, unexpected loss that had left us reeling. She’d been here one moment, and then gone the very next.
A wistful sigh escaped as I replaced it. There was only one gap in time missing from my mother’s writings about her life: the two-and-a-half month period she’d traveled to a nearby tourist lake town where she’d gotten a seasonal job.
The spring she’d gotten pregnant with me.
That diary was present, but the middle section was missing. I picked it up, easily recognizable not only by the pink cover, but also by the fact that it was flimsy and thin. It looked as if the inner binding had come loose, the only pages still intact the first and the last.
I flipped it open, and began reading her hopeful words, missing her desperately, but finding a small amount of comfort in being able to “hear” her voice again.
When I arrived three days ago, Calliope greeted me with the most breathtaking sunset I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something since I’ve enjoyed some stunners in Mud Gulch in my nineteen years. It wasn’t only the colors of the sky though, it was the way it sparkled off that glass-like water and how the blues and the greens of the lake and surrounding trees all shimmered together under the golden sun. Picturesque but also…magical somehow.