Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Queenie’s entire property inclines down to a creek. I used to wade in it as a child, searching for tadpoles and collecting them in a bucket. Even now, I can hear the water trickling over the shallow rapids as Sawyer and I take a seat side by side at her porch table. I grabbed my plate from the kitchen on my way out, so the two of us dive into all the yummy food.
“I’m not even hungry, but I dream about Lolly’s pigs in a blanket.” Sawyer pops two in his mouth and chews with a smile.
“Bet you’re proud of yourself, getting everything you want.” When he seems confused, I tack on, “Just strolled on in here and stole me away.”
He licks his bottom lip but stays quiet. Maybe he knows I’m right and there’s no sense in denying it.
“You know I really should be pumping the brakes with you. Those ladies probably think it’s weird that you’re here…given my recent engagement and all.” It feels important that I remind him of the circumstances surrounding my return to Oak Hill.
“I don’t really mind what they have to say, and there’s no need to pump the brakes. Let’s just see where this goes, Madison. Don’t get in your head about it all. It’s simple. I came over to enjoy these pigs in a blanket, and once I’m done, I’m going to ask you to take me down to the creek. You’ll think I’m doing it ’cause I want to check it out, but really, I’m just trying to get you far enough away from the house so those ladies in there can’t peek through the blinds and watch me kiss you.”
I can’t suppress my smile.
I nod back toward the house. “By the way, you know that’s no simple book club happening in there.”
His eyes widen as he picks up a bacon-wrapped shrimp. “Oh I’m aware. I flipped through one of my grandma’s books a few months back to see if I should read it. The title sounded right up my alley. Standing at Attention, with a soldier on the cover. Thought it was a nonfiction book about war.”
“But it wasn’t?”
He shudders. “Not the page I turned to. Parts of him were saluting, but definitely not that flag…”
“Okay, what do y’all think?!”
Marge and Queenie turn around to survey the progress I’ve made at the Wildflower Weddings offices. It’s Friday afternoon—a week since I returned to town—and I’ve been on an organizing mission for the last few days. I’ve spent something like fifty hours toiling away, and in all that time I’ve only managed to clear a single corner.
“I don’t see a difference,” Marge says, lifting up her heavy glasses and squinting as if that might clear up the confusion for her.
“What?! I unpacked like fifteen boxes that were stacked all the way up to the ceiling! There were travel agency posters hanging here too, remember?” I tap the wall. “And remember that world map? That thing had fused to the paint, and I only managed to rip it off in little strips.” Half of it is still up there, taunting me. I frown at it like I’m hoping the rest will shrivel up and fall off. “We’ll just have to hang a picture over it or something.”
“Looks really nice, Madison. Good work.” Queenie claps. “Place feels brand new.”
This is an extreme hyperbole. I’ve focused on this one corner, but the rest of the office looks about the same as when I started. Actually, Queenie’s desk is somehow even messier. As if to prove the futility of my task, a bell chimes over the door as a FedEx driver arrives with a stack of five boxes loaded on a dolly.
“Where do you want ’em, Queenie?”
“Hey, Mitch. Go ahead and stack them right over in that corner.”
MY CORNER!
He rolls them my way, dumps the boxes unceremoniously, tips an imaginary hat in my direction, and whistles a little tune on his way out. All the while, my eye twitches. If I look back, I’m sure the world map will have miraculously regenerated on the wall.
“Those are probably new linen samples. I ordered some a few weeks back.” Queenie waves her hand to dismiss the thought. “We’ll get to them on Monday. Ladies, it’s quitting time. It’s a rare non-wedding weekend for us. Marge, how about we treat Madison to a lethal mojito down at Armando’s?”
“Oh all right,” Marge begrudgingly agrees, “but last time I let you talk me into happy hour on a Friday, I found my underwear in my purse the next day.”
MARGE.
Queenie cackles. “If it was just your underwear and not the rest of your clothes, that’s a win in my book.”
Before I agree to join, I check my phone, surprised to find I don’t have a text or missed call from Sawyer waiting for me. Wednesday night, he and I sat on Queenie’s back porch talking for an hour before he led me down to the creek. We skipped pebbles and waded into the water up to our knees; it was hard to keep our footing on the slippery rocks, but Sawyer kept a tight hold on my hand. I told him, “That way at least we’ll go down together.”