Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“So your confession is that you’re here on business. And after today, I’ll never see you again because you don’t live here?” She pours the liquid tar into the two mugs. “Holy biscuits with butter and jam. You weren’t kidding about the grounds. I should have warned you. They’re from a local shop here, and they don’t mess around. I grind them myself, so I think that makes them extra potent, too, in comparison to the regular grocery store stuff.”
“That would explain why they’re in a canister and not a token coffee tin.”
“Yeah, it would. Anyway, this probably just needs some cream. Are you a cream guy? I think coffee is a bit gut rot first thing in the morning if you don’t put some cow juice in it.”
“Cow juice?” I quirk a brow.
“Ha. I probably shouldn’t call it that. One day, someone is going to clue me in on what cow juice actually is. Moo milk then? Because lots of kinds of milk aren’t moo milk.”
“I would love some moo milk.”
Beans sighs again. He’s all about calling me out on my bullshit. The guilt nearly chokes me long before I take a sip of the coffee. It’s strong enough to put hairs on the chest, alright, ladies and gents. Or like on the toes or something. Somewhere hair wouldn’t normally spring up. Never mind. I think my toes are hairy. I haven’t checked in a while, but probably. Maybe the soles of the feet? That would be weird. I can just imagine them sprouting after this liquid rocket ship in a mug. My heart isn’t just beating fast because of the adrenaline that comes with guilt and confessions. The caffeine is a hard punch to the nervous system.
“So…I have a confession to make too,” Weland says, leaning against the counter. She’s holding her mug with both hands. She looks petite and beautiful and absolutely adorable. Just looking at her is a punch to the nervous system.
Curiosity is a killer, and I know it’s not right that she goes first. Not when I have a secret so huge. But I want to know. It’s not about being a coward and delaying. I try to say something, but speaking is suddenly hard. A low sigh comes out that sounds an awful lot like Beans.
“I’m uh…I’m not actually free to do this,” Weland blurts. “To do whatever we might have thought we were going to do last night, which was nothing. But there’s a reason, and I can’t go into detail about it other than to say my life is complicated right now, though I very much want to be the kind of person who doesn’t come with complications.”
Her baby blue eyes sweep up to my face, and bam, there’s the knockout punch. All the rest were nothing in comparison to this one. There’s so much emotion in there. So much soulfulness. And it makes me want to be like butter and melt all over her kitchen floor.
“My life is going to be complicated for a year. But that’s it. After that, and I know it’s a long time and a lot to ask—you’re probably going to laugh about this later, and I’ll die a little inside from the crazy amount of humiliation—but if you’re interested and in a year you think about me and remember this night, and you wonder to yourself whatever happened to the girl who had a drink spilled on her head and was forgotten by her friends, the weirdo girl with the farty dog and the baggage that’s going to take a long arse time to unpack and you think, I’d like to get to know that girl, and I have space in my life for a little bit of awesome craziness, then please, look me up. You know where I live, and I won’t move anytime soon, so…uh, that’s it.”
Wow, that’s a heck of a lot and not at all what I expected.
Some things about Weland are, but overall, she’s been one heck of a surprise, and am I sorry I’m here? No. No, I’m not. That’s not what the regret is about.
“I…holy farge on all the barges.” I rake a hand over my face and through my hair. This is it. I have to come clean. “I know.”
“I’m sorry?” Weland gives me the most direct stare, but only because she’s trying to figure me out. “What do you mean?”
“I know your life is going to be complicated for a year.”
“How?” She looks up and studies me, and I know the exact second she reads what’s in my brain and on my face. There aren’t any more secrets of that kind between us. “Oh my god! You’re a stalker. You’re a freaking creep, though you promised you weren’t! The rest of those homicidal jokes better have been just jokes, or you’re going down!” She rips open the kitchen drawer nearest to her and pulls out a carrot peeler. It’s carrot-shaped. Like an actual carrot with the peeler coming out of it. “Back off! I know how to use this!” She waves it madly, slashing it in the air with enough force to do some real damage.