Perfect Song (Mason Creek Book 2) Lauren Runow (most important books to read .txt) 📖

my mom, who’s sitting on the couch, reading a book, and then I turn around, crossing my arms and pursing my lips. “Name one reason why.”

“He’s closer to my age than yours. That’s enough of a reason.”

“He’s only fifteen years older than me.”

“And you were born when I was twenty. Which makes him only five years younger than me.”

I sigh. “Daddy, just let me feel normal again. Is that okay? Don’t I deserve that?”

He steps up, his jaw clenched like I saw a thousand times, growing up. “No one really knows about that guy, but believe me, there’s chatter that I’ve heard plenty of.”

“From your fishing buddies?”

I turn to my mom for help in our conversation since she’s always been the mediator between us. She sighs, tilting her head like she did in the past when she really didn’t want to get involved.

“From everyone.”

“Anna knows him really well because her husband works with him. I’d say that’s a better judge of character than chatter around town. Besides, if he were that bad of a guy, would this town support his music the way they do?”

He narrows his eyes because he knows he can’t say any more. But also because I’m almost thirty years old and he can’t really stop me. It’s not like he could when I lived here anyway. At least now, I don’t have to sneak out.

I place my hand on his chest. “It will be fine. We’re just going to hang out.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” he says with a huff.

“Come on, Milt. I’ll help you bring in your fish.” Mom puts down her book and stands to pull him to the garage as I head out the front door.

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll be back later.” I wave good-bye.

“Have fun, sweetheart,” she responds over her shoulder.

I step outside just as Tucker is exiting his truck.

“Hey, I was just going to come get you,” he says, surprised to see me walking toward him.

“My dad’s here, so probably better that you didn’t.” I open the passenger door and hop in.

He follows my lead, and when he’s in the truck, he laughs, saying, “And here I thought, I was totally past having to deal with girls’ dads not liking me.”

I grin at him, teasing, “I guess it doesn’t matter how old you get.”

“Ha-ha,” he jokes.

I reach for my seat belt, buckling it. “Do I get to know where we’re going yet?”

“No, but I like that hat.” He pauses and looks down at my shorts. “Those shorts though …” He playfully bites his knuckles, and I reach across and smack his arm lightly. “I bet I can get them off of you.”

“The fact that you told me to wear a swimsuit underneath pretty much solidifies that will probably happen.” I tilt my head, and he grins from ear to ear.

He blows out a deep breath and runs his palm up and down his thigh before starting the car. “Yep, they’ll be coming off real quick.”

“Ha! Gentleman, my ass. I knew you were all talk.”

“Hey, a gentleman is also someone who when he’s with a woman he thinks is sexy, he makes sure she feels sexy too.”

I feel my face blush so I quickly change the subject. “Are we going to the creek or something?”

“Better. The lake.” He raises his eyebrows.

The lake is about a half hour away, and there’s a beautiful winding drive through the hills to get there. Since we have the creek here in town—hence the name Mason Creek—I never really went to the lake because unless you have a …

“Wait, do you have a boat up there?”

“A ski boat.” He waggles his eyebrows up and down.

My day just got brighter. I love going out on a boat—not a fishing boat, that is. There’s plenty of those around here but not many ski boats.

He turns up the radio and hums along to the songs as we make our way through the tree-covered roads. Every once in a while, some words slip out, and I sit in awe at the sexy and soulful tone of his voice. Even in this low volume, I can tell he has a deep voice that’s perfect for country songs, nothing but pure and manly, which I’m sure every girl swoons over.

The thought covers me in warmth, and since both windows are rolled down, I lean into the door to enjoy the cool breeze in my face. I’m glad I have my hat on, so my hair isn’t blowing around and whipping me in the face.

I glance in his direction randomly. He’s sitting back in his seat with his legs spread wide and one hand on the wheel while he strums his fingers of his other hand on his leg to the beat of the song.

He looks so laid-back in his black swim trunks and a white T-shirt. He’s got the same American flag hat on as the first night we met, and his facial hair has grown out even more today but still is pretty short against his chin. Most of all, I notice a guy who is totally comfortable in his own skin.

As we pull up, he scans a key card, and we drive through the boat launch to an area where boats are stored.

“Which one is yours?” I ask.

“You’ll see.” He exits the truck and grabs a bag from the backseat.

“What’s in there?” I point to the bag.

“Lunch.” He takes it in one hand as he leads us down the walkway. “What’s up, Steve?” he says to a guy as we walk by, who greets him in the same way.

Another person waves and then another, and I get the feeling that every person we pass knows exactly who Tucker is. He must come here often.

We walk past a few boats, and when a houseboat comes into view, Tucker says, “There she is.” He points to a boat that’s smaller than a ferry but box-like in size with a walkway that leads around the entire watercraft.

“You have a houseboat?”

“Yep. There’s a ski boat