Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
As if she hadn’t just gone full Tony Soprano, she casually ended the call and handed me back the phone. “They’ll be here in the morning.”
“And the discount?”
“Ten percent is the best she could offer, but I’ll be here tomorrow to chat with ugly contractor Ryan myself. Should be able to get that up to fifteen percent, no problem.”
Dollar signs flashed in my eyes. Ten percent was a lot of money when you were already spending a lot of money, but fifteen sounded a hell of a lot better. “Oh my God, Lucille!” Bouncing on my toes, I wrapped her in a tight hug. “That was amazing.”
“All right. Calm down now. You’re wrinkling my dress.”
I released her, but my smile was permanent. “Sorry, sorry. I just… Wow. I’m impressed.”
She popped a shoulder. “Now that you own the place, you gotta remember the goal isn’t just to be the squeaky wheel. It’s to get the whole oil change.”
“I’m not completely sure what that means, but I’m sure it’s sage advice. You are seriously the best. Brownies and a discount? You better be careful or I’m going to have to promote you.”
She waved me off. “Ew, no. Management is not for me. You can keep that nightmare all to yourself.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She patted me on the shoulder as she passed me. “Now listen, I gotta get out of here. I have a date.”
“Ohhhhh, do tell.” I followed her to the door.
“A lady does not kiss and tell.” She paused dramatically. “We screw and tell. I’ll fill you in when I see you in the morning. Don’t forget. Seven a.m.”
My loud laugh echoed off the glass. “You’re one of a kind, Lucille.”
“I feel like I’m talking to my pastor when you call me Lucille. That’s going to be really weird when we’re talking about scrumping in the morning.”
Dear lord, this woman was amazing and insane. Dylan was going to love her. I pulled the door open, holding it with my back so she could pass. “Sorry about that. I just know another Cooter, so it’s easier for me to call you Lucille.” With an awkward laugh, I made a mental note to brainstorm a nickname for her that wasn’t slang for vagina. “Be careful. Stay safe. Use a condom.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The rain had picked up again, so she opened her umbrella before stepping out to avoid the leaks in the awning. “Oh, don’t you worry, I—shit.”
“What’s wrong?” I followed her gaze across the street.
A swirl of contradictory emotions made my stomach sink the moment I saw him.
Fucking Truett.
I knew there was a chance he’d come back this week. I’d prepped a whole “stalking is illegal” speech and everything. I was going to read him the Riot Act, tell him to take a hike, and then threaten to call the cops if need be.
However, the moment I saw him, my anger transformed into a vile brew of guilt and pity. Logically, I knew that my buying The Grille wasn’t the reason for the anguish so thick in his body language it made my chest ache even from a distance. But the poison still coursed through my veins regardless how hard my brain tried to formulate the antidote.
Clad in a black jacket with gray panels on its sides, he had the hood drawn tightly around his face. It looked like he was shielding himself from more than just the weather. As if somehow those synthetic fibers could block out the entire world, hiding him in plain sight. His hands were buried deep in his pockets while his drenched jeans clung heavily to his legs. The spring weather had warmed, but there was no way he wasn’t freezing in those wet clothes.
And for what? To follow some Wednesday dinner routine in a grease pit that had sucked even before it closed?
“Damn,” Lucille whispered. “I was really hoping the hot gargoyle had found a new place to perch by now.”
“Me too,” I replied.
“Just leave him be. He’ll leave eventually.”
I nodded absently, never tearing my gaze off him, my mind swirling in a million different directions. Why, how, and what-the-fuck warred for the forefront of my thoughts.
“See ya in the morning.” She gave my arm a squeeze before she walked toward the side parking lot.
That should have been the end of it. After the stunt he’d pulled the week before, I had every right to be pissed. Livid even. There was no reason I shouldn’t have walked back inside, locked the door, and then carried on with my life—without him. God knew that was what he’d done to me.
My feet never moved though.
I was supposed to be angry.
I was supposed to hate him.
I was supposed to feel a sick sense of relief that he was exactly as miserable as I’d once hoped.
But as my chest tightened, I unfortunately learned that emotions didn’t always follow the path you paved for them.