Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I cut him a quick curious glance to which he shrugs off. “You shouldn’t be so bloody amazing.”
Blushing doesn’t hesitate to begin and deepens when his father adds, “You definitely look amazing in character.” The second my stare is back his direction, he compliments further, “I’ve seen firsthand how hard that puff is to perfect. Rosa does it every year, and every year I swear the shite looks harder than it did the last.”
“That’s just because I’m trying to cover up the gray,” the breathtakingly beautiful woman dressed in a white dress with a huge brown bow in the front beside him argues. “Me muero con estas malditas canas.”
Laughter comes from both men who seem to understand whatever it is she said in Spanish.
Huh.
Am I gonna have to learn two languages to fit in around here?
Should I have already taken lessons?!
See.
This is exactly why you can’t go around meeting a boyfriend’s parents after only a fucking month!
Tate leans over to whisper the translation, “Doing this damn gray hair is going to be the death of me.”
I smirk in both amusement and gratitude right before Rosa flicks a long strand away from her slender, café brown colored face, plasters on a toothy smile, and extends her hand for the shaking. “Priscilla aka Rosa, your Elvis’s mom.”
“Nice to meet you,” I sweetly insist while shaking.
Her warm gaze matches her grin, and the fact neither fade from the first look at me instills a sense of hope. And when she doesn’t comment or even seem to care that there’s a significant age-difference between us, I let out a small sigh of relief.
Okay.
Perhaps it really won’t be an issue like Tate kept promising it wouldn’t be.
The back of the ride abruptly closes, and the man driving the tractor announces, “Let’s get this US tour started!”
Everyone else on-board cheers in excitement as I look at the green eyes I can never get enough of. “What exactly is happening?”
“Spring 1965 Elvis’s Cadillac Series 75 Fleetwood limousine, which was painted diamond dust pearl and featured 24-karat gold plate highlights and trim that included a pure gold bumper, went on tour around the country without him – because he was too busy working on his concerts – to help promote a movie at the time.”
“Tickle Me,” Ronan casually informs. “Not my favorite but far from his worst.”
“One of my favorites because who doesn’t love a sexy, hip-swinging cowboy,” Rosa counters with a mischievous grin. “And it’s important to note the gold bumper was replaced by a regular bumper for obvious insurance reasons.”
I beam brightly at their comments while Tate continues on with his explanation. “The vehicle made sixteen stops in the US and then a couple years later went to New Zealand and Australia for charity.”
“He was such a giving soul,” Rosa coos and leans into her husband. “Like someone else I know.”
“She’s obviously not talking about me,” Ronan jovially jokes.
“This ‘cady ride’ will make the same ‘stops’ the original did.” He leans over so the words can only be heard by me. “Basically, they put up some cardboard sets of the cities and you can take photos of them during the drive. It helps give us all a tour of the orchard in a more creative, in theme way.”
When he pulls back for me to see his shimmering gaze, I offer him a wide mouth grin from both amusement and astonishment. “Wow. So, they really go like…all out for these conventions.”
“Bloody right.” Ronan states on a crisp nod. “You wanna honor the man? You do it right or not at all, tá?”
Knowing the word means yes allows me to confidently echo, “Tá.”
Tate extends his arm around the back of me to rest on the edge of the vehicle at the same time he points. “That is supposed to be the dealership where he first purchased the vehicle, we’re riding in.”
My frame slides slightly to the side to peer around his mother and admire the vintage looking building constructed out of cardboard leaning against one of the apple trees. While it is certainly not the most impressive design job, the elation on all those admiring the “building” make it come to life and encourages me to get lost in the make-believe.
“How many of these have you been to?” I ask his parents as the tractor slowly curves to the right, following a pre-driven path.
“I’ve lost count,” Ronan answers, dragging his attention away from the view to me. “We do a few every year to keep the magic alive.” His exaggerated wink gets him a playful nudge in the side. “However, the best we’ve ever been to-”
“Besides the one in Vegas,” Rosa swiftly inserts.
“And see, I prefer the one in Parkes.”
“Vegas is better than Australia.”
“You went to Australia for one of these?!” I squawk in disbelief.
“We go all over,” his father offhandedly insists. “Our first convention together being Elvis Week in Memphis, which was the one we went on for our honeymoon.” He drops his gaze back to the tiny female at his side. “And cheaper, mo grá. That’s what you mean about the one in Vegas. Not better.”