Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
“Brother, calm down. Juni sent me a text. They were done for the day. Maeve is at your place. Whisked Away is locked up tight. But come on, let’s get outta here.” Law places his hand on my shoulder to stop my pacing.
“I’ll be out at the ranch as soon as we get a few things narrowed down. Don’t go off half-cocked, yeah?” Fletch looks at me, knowing if he were in my shoes, nothing would stop him from going after the man who’s tried to ruin his woman’s life.
“He won’t,” Lawson says, but he knows I fucking will if we don’t get back to the ranch.
“Alright, get outta here,” Fletch says. We nod to Rice and Leonard. I only have one thought on my mind, and that’s getting home to Mae.
TWENTY
MAEVE
It’s the next morning after a day with the girls, and I’m at Whisked Away with JW. JW told me what Fletch had to say, and I was floored. I’m talking mouth dropping to the floor. Never would I have expected it from the looks of Clayton Smith. Apparently, looks can be deceiving, and boy, were they right.
The corner of my eye catches on the boxes stacked up by the front door. What has me confused right now though is why the delivery man didn’t take the supplies to the back door. All my orders and drivers know me by name. They knock on the back door and wheel everything inside with a dolly. They stick around for a drink and a dessert then go about their day.
“I’ll get it,” I tell JW. He’s got his head in the massive mixing bowl behind the counter. When it rains, it freaking pours. I’m really beginning to think we’ll never see the light of day and catastrophe after catastrophe is hitting me at each and every turn. JW says something, but I’m already more than halfway to the door, and with him being here, the alarm isn’t switched on. I’ll be in and out in less than sixty seconds. What’s the worst that could happen?
I turn the lock and push open the door, propping it open with the stopper. My eyes about bug out of my sockets. Box after box is stacked up right outside the door. I’m so lost in thought trying to figure out when I ordered all these supplies and what they could even be. I’ve slowed down on my monthly orders for paper products and baking essentials. As for my food distribution order, I received that order earlier this week, and the only reason I’ve kept up with that is because of the man currently working on my mixer. JW caught wind of me doing the bare minimum and put a stop to it, especially because his family is eating here and making requests. God, I love them. They all have helped me so much, my own included.
This week, I’ve had more stragglers than before, and I’m pretty sure it’s all due to the fact I’ve had a revolving door. When there’s more than three people, I keep the alarm off and keep the door unlocked. I’m lifting one package off the ground where there’s a stack of three boxes. Instead of putting them inside the store, I dive into the first box. My curiosity really is a pain in the ass; any other day, I’d bring them in and then open them one by one. I’ll even create content on my social media platforms, like an unbox with me. Other days, I’ll do a day in the life as a baker, a get ready for me, and when I’m baking, I’ll do a time lapse of what I’m making for the day. Lately, though, my creativity has been down in the dumps. There’s nothing new calling to me, so it’s been random pictures I’ve taken throughout the years or older content I hadn’t culled to edit and post.
Not that it’s doing any good. My website is so hacked and ruined, logging in is never successful, and no matter what I do, there’s no way in. I’ve called and emailed my website host with no luck. JW told me the culprit is Clayton Smith. Yep, the guy I ghosted has some kind of vendetta for me, but I guess it’s not just me. There’s a slew of women he’s swindled after meeting them on the same dating app. What I still don’t understand is why me. Is there something on my forehead saying Pick me?
I open the box, still wondering what all is packed inside. Instead of going inside and grabbing a pair of scissors, I use my brute force. The tape rips, allowing the flap to pop open, and that’s when I get my first look inside.
Joseph William Johnson. He’s done it again. New rubber spatulas, parchment paper, scoops for cookie dough and batter, measuring cups. There are still two more boxes to go. This is barely scratching the surface. Literally, all the blathering I do under my breath about needing this or that once things get back up and running, it seems JW took it to heart, made notes, then did his own thing by taking care of me yet again.