Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
He returns my smile. “Well, if it softens the blow at all, you said it already: doesn’t matter who you are here in Spruce.”
The next instant, Samuel drops back into his seat as if having fallen out of a secret hole in the ceiling, everything on the table rattling noisily. “Oh, I’d say it certainly does matter who you are in Spruce, Texas,” he declares. “Certain people get all the attention, especially if your last name rhymes with Wrong, Dick Deer’s Son, or Fucker.”
I eye him. “Samuel.”
“And if your name doesn’t rhyme with any of those delightful words,” he goes on, “you get swept to the corners of the town like pet dander, forgotten, left to live your life in sad solitude.”
Despite the annoyed look on my face, Cole chuckles at Samuel, finding his point funny. I wonder if Cole has ever been annoyed at or rude to anyone in his life. “I feel your struggle, Samuel. I bet on one hand, it feels pretty amazing to work at the veterinary clinic, since you get to know so many people through their pets. But I imagine that can make you feel a bit invisible, too.”
Samuel’s face twists. “Huh?”
“Once you’re done healing someone’s Fido, Spike, or Muffins, the relationship ends, and they’re on their merry way.” Cole peers across the table with sympathy in his eyes. “Is that what it’s like?”
The stricken expression on Samuel’s face suggests Cole hit the puppy-dog nail on its puppy-dog head. The two guys are instantly connected for one precious, unexpected moment.
Then Samuel breaks that connection with a flippant shrug and a smirk. “Not really.”
Cole frowns, appearing unconvinced. “Hmm.”
Right then, our tired-eyed server Mick appears at the side of the table. “Welcome to Biggie’s. Can I start you off with, uh—”
“We already did that part, Mick, my man,” says Samuel. “We are ready to order, and you can start with mine: two Tackles.”
“Oh, uh-huh.” Mick scribbles it down, mouth hanging open.
“And one of these guys for me, please,” says Cole, pointing at the menu, “and Malcolm here would like a classic Biggie’s Burger.”
Mick has zero facial expression as he continues scribbling for a surprisingly long while before, as if finally coming out of a daze, looking up. “I’ll have those out for you soon. Kitchen’s backed up. I’ll probably be making all this myself, too, heh. Sit tight.” Then he stuffs his notepad into a back pocket, swipes our menus off the table, and trudges off.
I frown. “Is this what service is normally like here? He didn’t even ask what I want on my burger, or how I want it cooked, or—”
“He’ll cook it just the way you want it,” Samuel assures me, “and the moment you sink your teeth into that piece a’ heaven, you will forget you ever hated pickles.”
I look at him, surprised. “How’d you know I hate pickles?”
He shrugs, amused. “Don’t I already know so much about you? It’s amazing what a genuine connection feels like. A connection that isn’t … say … totally orchestrated and forced by a woman who means well but doesn’t have a nice track record for matchmaking.”
I roll my eyes at his obvious jab at Cole and Nadine—despite an urge to laugh in agreement with his assessment. “I would not call what you and I have a ‘genuine connection’.”
“Really? What is it, then?”
“A genuine accident,” I answer curtly.
“Gosh, Malckie.” Samuel rubs his chest. “Gonna stab me in my lil’ precious heart like that?” He peers across the table at Cole and throws a thumb at me. “You sure you can handle this guy? Malckie can sure crack like a whip when he wants.”
Cole chuckles, looking at each of us. “I’m getting the picture.”
“Don’t worry, there’s no picture to be gotten,” I assure Cole, giving Samuel my sharpest side-eye. “Doesn’t matter, because I’m so hungry, I probably won’t even notice what’s in the burger.”
“Nah, that’s no way to eat your first Biggie’s,” protests Samuel with a wag of his finger. “You gotta savor every bite.”
I smirk. “Is that so?”
“Yep.”
Cole watches us thoughtfully, his face otherwise unreadable.
For twenty-nine-and-a-half minutes, the banter and nonsense continues, now and then lulling as the three of us wait for our orders. When they at last come, I barely wait for the server to go before picking my burger up and taking a hearty bite out of it. To my absolute surprise, my mouth explodes with flavors I did not think were capable of coming out of some small-town hamburger joint that doesn’t even seem to have a page on Yelp. Cole actually watches me take my first bite—which I don’t notice until I’m going for my second—before he picks up his sandwich and starts eating, too. For a moment, it’s the exact lunch date I think we both were going for, eating pleasantly, enjoying ourselves, and sneaking cute glances at each other over the tops of our respective sandwiches.