Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Mal pushed at my chest with both hands, one of which was still clamped around a wrench, and I took a giant step back. “I don’t think that kind of privacy exists in Licking Thicket,” he murmured.
Diesel paused next to the tool bag in the center of the aisle. “Hey. I wondered if you needed help, Mal?”
“It’d really help if he’d go the fuck away,” I said under my breath, turning to inspect the dusty tire like it was suddenly fascinating.
Mal pushed his lips together like he wanted to laugh, but he shook his head politely at Diesel. “Not really. I’ve already gotten more than I came for.” He darted a look at me. “More than that would be greedy since I’m going home Sunday night, right?”
I pushed out a breath. Right.
Mal stepped around me to collect the rest of his haul, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a second.
Sunday night I’d be back in the city. I could hit up a bar or open an app, select from a plethora of really hot, really willing, really uncomplicated guys, and get rid of this jumpy, nervous energy in my gut almost immediately, the way I’d done a hundred times in the past.
I wondered why that option wasn’t remotely appealing at the moment.
Then I opened my eyes just in time to see Mal give Diesel a friendly smile, and I thought I knew the answer.
10
Mal
When I woke up the following day, I was shocked to realize it was already Thursday. My crazy week in Licking Thicket was more than halfway over. Soon, I’d be returning to the real world where coffee didn’t come in a cup with a cartoon salt lick on it and no one in the general vicinity bore the nickname Plutie, Sonny, or Skeets.
I had to admit to being excited for the vendor fair, though. So far, everyone had been very supportive of my work, and I always loved selling at the small-town fairs. People usually had great stories of oddball junk that had been repurposed, and sometimes they even offered to go home and collect their junk to donate to “the cause.” I’d gotten very good at saying no thank you to sincere offerings of other people’s garbage, but I still appreciated the kind gestures. And it was especially fun to see families out together or couples holding hands while strolling through the booths and munching on local fair food.
After climbing out of the guest house and dropping into the yard, I made my way into the kitchen in time to overhear Mrs. Ivey lecturing Ava about her outfit.
“What happened to the ensemble I laid out on your bed, honey?” Mrs. Ivey asked from her position in front of the pancake griddle. “I picked it up for you at Deb’s Closet just last week. It’s darling.”
“It’s a pinafore, Mama,” Ava said calmly. “And Deb’s Closet isn’t gently used so much as rode hard and put away wet.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mrs. Ivey said, waving the pancake flipper through the air. “I have it on good authority Missy Stonewall herself owned that top before Deb got a hold of it.”
“Be that as it may, it looks like something you’d lay across the dining room table on Thanksgiving before placing a gravy boat on top of it.” Ava grabbed a dry pancake from the stack next to the griddle and took a bite out of it. “Besides, it doesn’t fit. I’m wearing this.”
Mrs. Ivey gave Ava an up-down that made it very clear what the older woman thought of Ava’s white sleeveless shirt and teal-colored shorts. “Your…” She turned to me before lowering her voice at Ava. “Bosoms are… indecent in that blouse.”
“They’re like ten times bigger than normal,” Ava said before catching herself. Her eyes widened in horror. “I mean, this bra makes them look bigger. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll change.” She turned and bolted out of the room.
I tried to pretend I was invisible, but it didn’t work. Ava’s mom shot me a big Welcome Wagon smile. “Malachi, good morning, dear. Are you ready for some pancakes?”
After an awkward pancake breakfast slash fashion show, I finally told Ava if she changed into one more shirt with a Peter Pan collar or an inset lace panel of any kind, we were going to have words. When we left the house, she was back in the original white sleeveless top which, admittedly, now seemed a little porny in hindsight.
When we got to the vendor fair and saw Brooks and Paul helping set up, Paul caught sight of the unfortunate mammary situation and ran right into a trash barrel, damned near tipping inside.
“Jesus Christ,” Brooks scoffed, rubbing the center of his forehead with his fingers.
“Straight,” I muttered to Ava out of the corner of my mouth. “And a shit actor to boot.”