Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“That is true, and I've been coming here since I was a kid, but we never stayed long, and I hardly ever left the farm. I didn't want to if I'm being honest. I always thought I would have my own place like this. I've loved horses since I knew what they were.”
Poppy’s full lips pull into a smile and some of that tension leaves her face. “It is quite peaceful here,” she admits, turning around to look out the front door. “How are all of the horses doing?”
“Um, as you can expect for rescues. I recently found out that one of the mares my aunt got from an auction is pregnant.”
“You say that like it was a surprise. Any mare from a loose sale auction like that has a chance of being penned with a stallion.”
“I know that now. But I didn't before so it was a total surprise. The mare is in pretty rough shape herself. I honestly don't know how she was able to continue carrying this pregnancy. But I'm going to do everything I can to give her a fighting chance.”
A few seconds of silence pass between us and Poppy turns back towards me, gripping her purse tightly. “Well I'm pretty hungry, so if you want to join me you really should go make yourself presentable.”
Not allowing myself to react to her words, I take in a breath and smile. “I'm good. I showered and my dress is clean, plus my hair is somewhat brushed.” I run my fingers through my hair again. It's actually not terrible. “Besides, it's not like I'm going to try to impress anyone there tonight.”
“Suit yourself. There are quite a few eligible bachelors in Silver Ridge,” she says with a half-smile. She's trying to be friendly and make a joke, though it doesn't quite come naturally to her.
Unlike Jacob, Poppy is easy to read. She's guarded because she's trying to keep up the ruse of being better than anyone, dropping subtle insults in an attempt to appear unbothered and unattached. Riley, who finally stopped sniffing the horse blankets, comes over to Poppy. I half expect her to shy away, but she drops down and greets the golden retriever enthusiastically. I hurry into the kitchen to grab my phone and my purse, and then follow Poppy out, locking the door behind me.
I get into her black BMW, thankful that she turns the music on as soon as she pulls out of the driveway. We make small talk, mostly about our horses, on the way to the bar. It's near the lake but doesn't have a waterfront view. It's about nine-thirty by the time we get there, and I'm surprised at how busy it is for a Thursday night. But, if this really is the only place to go for food late at night, then I guess I shouldn't be surprised.
We get one of the last remaining tables in the back of the bar. The bar looks nothing like I expected. With a name like La Cantina, I expected it to be Mexican themed at best, but the decor is a hodge-podge of random stuff stuck on the walls in that chaotic style popular years ago. There's a large bar near the front, a decent sized dance floor, and a bunch of booths and tables lining the walls. The entire place is dimly lit, and country music drifts through the chatter.
My stomach grumbles as I look over the menu and I realize that I haven't eaten since lunch. I dropped Everly off at Maria's house before dinner since she was eating with them, and then came home, immediately getting back to work in the barn.
“I'm ordering a Cosmo.” Poppy tells me flicking her eyes up from the menu. “Do you want one?”
“Sure,” I say, not even remembering the last time I had a cocktail like this. I'll have to drink it slowly until my food arrives. Not only do I have a low tolerance since I hardly ever drink, but consuming alcohol on an empty stomach is never a good idea. “What do you recommend?” I ask, looking down at the menu.
“The food is what you would expect from a place like this, so I hope you don't have high expectations. Though, the grilled chicken and Alfredo pasta is always freshly made and surprisingly not terrible.”
“Pasta does sound good,” I agree, not caring that I've eaten my weight in pasta this week. A few minutes later a waiter comes over to take our orders. Poppy and I both order the chicken Alfredo, but I substitute my chicken for a big piece of garlic bread.
“So, do you feel like you know a lot of people in town since you've lived here for quite a while now?” I look out at the crowd.
“I know who they are,” Poppy says, and I follow her gaze as she looks around at the people. She doesn't have to say it for me to know exactly what she means she knows who people are. She knows their names, and probably a bit of gossip about them. But she isn't friends with anyone in this bar. I don't think it takes a genius to figure out that Poppy's lack of friends might have something to do with her harsh personality.