Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Wren curses and covers her face with her hands.
I smile for the first time since I walked away from Drew. “Oh, girl, we need to talk.” I move toward the kitchen. “I’ll make the tea while you spill it.”
“I can’t,” she says. “No offense, but I don’t kiss and tell. Not even when it comes to the most infuriating man on the planet.” She bites her lip as worry creases her forehead. “This is going to ruin everything, isn’t it? Work will be weird, and I’ll have to quit and find a new job and a new boss who doesn’t know what sounds I make when I’m feeling really happy.”
“So, he made you feel really happy, huh?” I ask, watching her from the corner of my eyes as I put the kettle on.
“Really happy,” she says with a sigh. “Really, really happy. Three times in one session, which has never happened to me before.”
“Sounds like that might be worth a repeat performance.”
Wren shakes her head with a shudder. “Ugh, no. I hate him. I thought I loved him, but now I’m pretty sure I hate him. He’s so bossy and arrogant and he thinks he knows me, but he doesn’t. It’s like he hasn’t been paying attention. At all! I’ve worked for him for six years, Tatum. Six years, and he didn’t know that I go deer hunting every season and am really good with a gun.”
I pause as I’m reaching for mugs and shoot her a worried look. “You didn’t shoot him, did you?”
She huffs. “No, of course not. I just took his shotgun and fired a perfect hole through the street sign to prove that I could shoot Kyle if I wanted to. But I won’t. I think I know why he’s lost it, by the way.”
“Barrett?” I ask.
“No, Kyle,” she says. “My cell was dead, but when I charged it in the car, a message came through from Tim at animal control. Apparently, there’s an old grain shed down the road from my house with a bunch of rotting corn in it. One of Farmer Chastain’s pigs got into it and almost died. But before he did, he got really aggressive and mean. They cleared the entire shed out, so hopefully Kyle will calm down without regular doses of toxic mold in his system.”
My shoulders sag. “Oh my God, that’s great news! Fingers crossed.” I peel my lips from my teeth with a hiss. “Maybe that’s why my bite got infected so fast?”
“Maybe,” Wren says. “But you should be fine. The antibiotics should clear everything up. You’re feeling okay now, right?”
“I feel great,” I say, my eyes tearing up almost immediately. “Except that I’m in love with Drew and Sarah Beth and we can never be together, and I have to move home to live in my sister’s dank and depressing basement.”
Wren’s brows shoot up. “What!”
I spill out the entire story—meeting Drew’s mom and realizing I’ve screwed everything up beyond repair—and finish up just as the water boils. I fill the mugs and plunk a honey cinnamon stick tea bag in each, sniffing as I add, “So, I have to go home. It’s where I belong. If I can screw up a fresh start in a week, I’m clearly not fit for a normal, drama free existence.”
“That’s crazy, Tatum,” she says sternly. “You’re fitting in great! I adore you and I don’t adore just anyone. I’m picky about new friends.”
I fight another wave of tears. “Thanks. I adore you, too. And I think you and Barrett are going to find a way to be together. I have a feeling about you two. You’re going to have a happy ending. And when you do, I’ll be cheering so loud you’ll hear me all the way from Kentucky.”
Her lips turn down. “Tatum, please, I think—”
She’s cut off by someone shouting my name from the street outside.
No, not just shouting…
That voice is being amplified. It sounds like it’s coming over a loudspeaker or something.
“Tatum O’Leary,” the voice calls again, more familiar this time around.
Wren and I lock eyes and she says what I’m thinking, “Is that Fred? From the bar?”
“I think so,” I say, just as Fred calls out, “Paging Tatum O’Leary! Please come to your balcony at your earliest convenience, pumpkin. We don’t care if you’re in your pajamas. We’re all friends here.”
Abandoning our tea, Wren and I circle around the couch and the kitchen table, shoving aside the curtains shielding the apartment from the street below. I drag open the sliding glass door and step out onto my chilly balcony to see…a parade.
No, not a parade. But it’s damned close. On the street below are five motorcycles with rainbow flags flying from the back and a giant pick-up truck with what looks like a small stage in the bed. Standing on the stage is Fred, speaking into a megaphone, and a man in a snazzy blue suit.