Unforgettable – Cloverleigh Farms Read online Melanie Harlow

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance, Sports Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
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She digested that. “Did you apologize?”

“Actually, I did. But you were wrong.”

“About what?”

“I didn’t abandon her. I specifically asked her if I had.”

Her eyes widened. “What made you do that?”

“I don’t know. I guess you got me thinking about it.” I leaned on the table with both elbows. “I started doubting my recollection of the events and realized maybe it wasn’t the only version of the story.”

“Wow.” She blinked. “I’m impressed. I didn’t really think you’d do it.”

“I wasn’t going to. But . . . I don’t know.” I sat back and shrugged. “At the end of the night, the question just sort of slipped out, and we wound up having a conversation about it.”

Her brows shot up. “Interesting.”

The server returned with our drinks, and Sadie took a sip of her herbal tea. I probably should have let the subject drop right there, but for some reason, I didn’t.

“It was a boy,” I said.

Sadie looked up at me in surprise, nearly choking on her tea. “You asked that too?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Wow.” She sat back and studied me. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Fine.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t really affect me, you know?”

“It doesn’t?”

“No. She told me he was adopted by two amazing people who really wanted a baby, and she knew right away they were the mom and dad. I told her I was glad to hear it.”

My sister nodded slowly. “Well, I’m glad to hear that too.”

“Good. So now we never have to discuss it again.”

“Okay, but one more thing.”

“What?”

“Did she tell you his name?”

“Charles.”

“Charles,” she repeated softly. “What’s his middle name?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” I frowned, scratching my head. “Look, I didn’t ask about him for him, I asked about him for April. I wanted to hear that she was okay.”

“And is she?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Good.” Sadie took another sip of tea. “She’s such a good person. I want her to be happy.”

“Me too.” I took a drink of my iced tea. “Any idea why she never got married?”

“No. It’s really surprising to me, actually, because I know she always wanted children. She used to talk about it when she’d babysit me.”

“Huh.”

Sadie shrugged. “Maybe she just hasn’t met the right person.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe it’s you.” One of Sadie’s eyebrows peaked.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know,” I told her, picking up my iced tea again. “Believe me. We talked about this last night too—she and I are very different, and we are not looking for the same things.”

“What’s she looking for?”

“A husband, two-point-five kids, maybe a cat.”

“And you?”

“A club sandwich. And look at that, dreams do come true.” I leaned back as the server set a plate in front of me.

My sister sighed dramatically. “I don’t even know why I bother.”

I picked up a French fry and stuck it in my mouth. “Me neither.”

After lunch, I drove by my old barber shop, but at the last minute I kept on driving, deciding instead to try a salon up the street that said “Walk-Ins Welcome.” I figured I had less of a chance of being recognized there, and the encounter with that reporter was fresh on my mind.

Thankfully, I was right. The salon was full of women who either didn’t recognize me or didn’t give a shit, and I got a pretty nice haircut too. Not only that, but it came with a shampoo and a scalp massage that—not gonna lie—made me miss a woman’s hands in my hair. I closed my eyes and imagined the hands were April’s.

At five o’clock that night, I reported for duty at Cloverleigh Farms. Sadie had told me I didn’t have to wear a suit but to please look nice, so I’d added a blue sports jacket and tie to my dark jeans and a white button-down.

April was standing in the entrance hall of a building Sadie had called “the wedding barn,” which was the designated meeting spot for the rehearsal. The way she looked me over—kind of the way she’d gazed at her dessert last night before devouring it—put a little swagger back in my game.

“Hi,” she said, her eyes traveling over me. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek without thinking if that was okay or not. She looked great too. It was amazing how she could make such a long skirt—it came down to at least her knees—look sexy. Maybe it’s because it hugged her butt so tight. And the blouse she wore didn’t show any cleavage—it tied around her neck, in fact—but somehow, the whole effect of the outfit was making me sweat.

Was it the heels? They were the same ones she’d been wearing last night—black and high and shiny, with a little hole at the top where the barest suggestion of red polish on her toes peeked out.

I loosened my tie.


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