Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
He was making sense, therefore I went back to my brows and said, “I’ll consider it.”
“Raye—”
I looked to him and brandished my eyebrow pencil. “Dude, do you not know how delicate this operation is?”
His eyes crinkled and his beard quirked.
“You’re heard, honey, so can I finish my eggs and makeup?” I requested.
“You got it, babe,” he relented and moved away.
I looked at the clock on the microwave and let out little squeal.
At this rate, I was going to be at least fifteen minutes late to work, if not twenty.
I had to get my ass in gear.
Pronto.
I’d just left my apartment and was walking down the walkway, when my next-door neighbor, Rhea, opened her door and poked her head out.
Her hair was a mess, her eyes still drowsy, and I was surprised she was awake considering she did the evening shift at Chopper John’s biker bar, this fact meaning she didn’t often come to our shindigs, unless they were in the afternoon, because she was working.
“Dig it you’re getting it regular, sister, but lay off the headboard at five in the morning.”
“Oh God, can you hear us?” I asked.
“No, not until this morning.” Her grin was as drowsy as her eyes. “Sounded good though.”
I returned her grin. “It totally was. But we’ll have a mind.”
“All I ask.”
Her door closed.
Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting in the suicide lane, staring at the front of The Surf Club.
Primarily the front window, which had been defaced with white shoe polish and said in big, oddly threatening letters, Today’s Tex Special, Blood Orange Mocha.
And then there was a drawing of what looked like a blob with dots, but I sensed it was supposed to be an orange.
I guessed Tex hadn’t yet caught the vacation vibe.
Someone honked their horn at me.
I looked in my rearview mirror and saw it was Byron.
I lifted a hand and waved, then I made a left when it was safe and slid into the parking lot of SC.
Sadly, I did it seventeen minutes late for my shift.
Per usual, no one noticed or said a word.
I waited until after the lunch crush to approach Tito’s table.
He looked up from playing Stardew Valley when I stopped at his side.
“Thanks for the plant, Rachel,” he said.
My gaze went to the succulent that was still pride of place, then back to him.
“Glad you like it,” I replied. “Listen, are you cool with Tex being here?” I asked to confirm.
“Three customers came to me yesterday and personally thanked me for hiring him. And one did that at the same time telling me he called him ‘turkey.’ In other words, yes, Rachel, I’m okay with it.”
I sensed this, but I had to check.
“How did you two hook up to, uh…you know, follow me when I went to see my dad?” I inquired.
“You went to your locker to take off your apron, and Tex came to me and said, ‘Get up, we’re goin’ to take her back while she raps with her pops.’ So I got up and went with him to make sure you were okay while you spoke to your father.”
Right then.
That explained that.
I was a little surprised at how simple the explanation was, but there you go.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said.
“I wasn’t—”
“You never have to worry about me, Rachel.”
“Okay,” I said softly.
“Though, I worried about you. But I feel a lot better after yesterday.”
Tito was such a nice guy.
“I do too.”
“Good.”
He went back to Stardew Valley.
“Tito?”
He looked up and his bushy, white brows rose above the tops of his neon green sunglass frames.
“You know you’re the awesomest boss ever, right?”
He smiled. “I try.”
I wanted to hug him or something.
But he was back in Stardew Valley.
So instead, I returned to work.
Dad and I were sitting on stools watching Deb and Cap at the stove.
In a skillet, Cap was spooning some kind of buttery or olive-oily stuff that was sprinkled with some rosemary twigs on top of pork chops while Deb looked over his shoulder, oooing and aahing.
I’d changed from work clothes and donned the red dress with the pink flowers, flutter sleeves, tiered skirt, smocked waist with a cutaway at the small of my back that Dad bought me yesterday.
Cap was in jeans and a short sleeve, dark wash chambray-colored linen shirt.
I knew how nervous Deb was about this whole thing when she turned up in a sleeveless, blousy number and high heels that went better at Lon’s than in my living room.
Dad knew where we were at in our reconciliation, that being in a good place, but he still knew how important this was, so he was in chinos and a navy button down.
Patches was in his normal outfit, curled into the corner of the couch with his back to us, sharing he was not a huge fan of too much company.