Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Everything else was completely routine from the way Cash rang the doorbell to the way he helped me set the table. Nothing was different from any other time, but it still felt different. Maybe I was reading too much into it, but he didn’t once nudge my leg with his. I felt like I didn’t get as many smiles thrown my way. The air between us was stilted, all because I stupidly tossed those IVF brochures on the table and got right to work because I was running ten minutes late this morning. My morning routine is very regimented.
I don’t have much time to dwell over it right now because he still asked before he left whether we were going to hang out at his house or mine when dinner was over. Besides, I spent the entire day trying to analyze the looks I saw on his face while we were having the conversation about it.
I take a deep breath and walk into the kitchen when I hear his truck pull up outside of my house.
“I meant to give these to you this morning.”
My fake smile turns into a real one when I see the small package in his hand.
“These are my absolute favorite,” I say, reaching for the cherry sours in his hand. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says.
“I know you can’t get these in town any longer.”
“I grabbed them when I went to Austin the other day,” he says with a shrug. “No big deal.”
They used to carry the entire line of candy from this company, but they weren’t selling enough and the vendor decided it wasn’t worth driving all the way out here for only a handful of sales. It’s a real shame too because I also really like the circus peanut marshmallow candy and the apricot rings.
“I’m not sharing these,” I tell him, and the smile I get in return is the one I was missing at dinner.
Maybe he had a bad day, but I know better than to ask. Cash keeps a lot of the police work he does close to his chest. When I asked him once why he doesn’t discuss those things with me, he just shrugged and told me I didn’t need that kind of stuff in my head. Often, I have to read about the hard stuff in the Lindell Gazette. It usually includes farm accidents and wrecks out on the highway that the sheriff calls and asks him to assist with.
“You don’t have to share those candies, but the last time I was here, I recall there being ice cream in your freezer.”
I grin at him. Ice cream wasn’t even on our radar for snacks when we watched television until I tried my hand at making a few flavors for the ice cream social the town had. I’m always capable of pivoting to fit myself into different slots in order to stay relevant. If there’s a niche I can fill that will bring in more business, then I’m willing to put in the extra work to do it.
Cash calls it hustling.
“I no longer have that ice cream in my freezer,” I tell him, scrunching my nose. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It was yours to eat.”
I roll my lips between my teeth before responding. “I didn’t exactly eat it.”
“I swear, Adalynn Rose Tate, if you threw that ice cream out because it was too tempting to eat, I swear I’ll—”
“I didn’t throw it out,” I assure him. “I put it in the freeze dryer.”
He blinks at me as if I’m speaking a different language.
I turn and grab the bag I set there earlier from the counter.
“I saw online that people were doing it with ice cream sandwiches, and since I didn’t have any of those, I figured I’d experiment.” I open the zipper on the top of the bag and hold it out to him. “I made the ice cream myself at home, so I can’t sell it at the bakery. Give it a try.”
He makes a disgusted look, but it doesn’t stop him from reaching into the bag to pull out one of the pink clumps.
He pops the thing in his mouth, and surprise lights his eyes up as he chews.
“That’s so weird,” he says when he’s done. “It tastes exactly the same, but the texture is completely different.”
I chuckle when he reaches into the bag for a second piece.
“It’s good, right?”
“Delicious.”
“So,” I say, knowing we need to finish the conversation we started this morning before he had to go to work. “I think I found a way not to go broke and still get pregnant.”
He coughs, choking on the strawberry ice cream.
“Do you need some water?”
He waves me off, covering his mouth with his other hand as he works to clear his throat.
“They can get a little dry,” I say. “Sorry about that. I should’ve warned you.”