Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
That tingle I felt last night turns into a hot spark.
9
I CAN BE DELIGHTFULLY UNDERHANDED
Rachel
There’s no way I heard him right.
After all that terrible lip-biting last night, he couldn’t possibly be asking me on a date, right?
Also, do I even want to date my best friend?
No, no, and a hell no.
Because then what would happen when the date went south? I’d be left alone all over again. No, thank you.
“A date?” I ask, a little uncomfortably.
“A platonic date,” he quickly corrects, and I breathe a very audible sigh of relief. Thank god. But now that he’s said that, I feel the tiniest bit let down. Yes, a date with Carter would have been a terrible idea, but for a few dangerous seconds there I felt…wanted.
And it was nice to feel wanted.
Warm and kind of woozy in my chest.
But I shake off the foreign sensation. Obviously I don’t need to be wanted by my friend.
“Sure,” I add, upbeat.
“You’re a goddess,” he says. “I don’t want to go anywhere near a real date, so my agent is getting it all sorted for me to do five first dates. And it’ll be way easier for me if you and I could do the first one. As friends. So I thought maybe we could do the Puzzle Nerds thing and record some of it.”
“Of course,” I say, even though I’ve already agreed, both to Puzzle Nerds and helping him. “I’ll get my profile up tonight.”
“You’re the best,” he says, then adds, “I should go to practice.”
“I need to get back to the store.”
“Thanks again, Rachel.”
“Anytime.”
I hang up, relieved things aren’t weird with us after last night, even though I still feel a little kernel of disappointment as I leave my tiny office.
I return to the front of the store right as the bell tinkles. A woman in a flowy cream blouse and with the most perfect complexion I’ve ever seen floats in like Aphrodite rising from the foam.
She’s the picture of serenity. She even smells calm too. It’s like lavender is wafting off her, lulling me into a sense of peace and harmony.
“Welcome to Bling and Baubles. We’re happy to help you with anything you need.”
She steeples her fingers together. “Wonderful. I definitely need some help.”
“Let us know what we can do. I’m Rachel, the owner. And this is Fable. She works here and she also designs a number of our necklaces.”
Fable nods toward the Venus on the Half-Shell lady. “You’d probably look good in anything with your dewy complexion,” she says.
The woman smiles, clutching her chest like she’s so touched. “Thank you.” She turns to me, her smile widening. “I do have a question for you.”
“Sure,” I say.
“Are you unhappy?” she asks with a placid smile.
That’s a strange thing to ask. Confused, I say, “No, I’m not unhappy. Why?”
“Then, why are you raining on other’s happiness?”
I steal a glance at Fable, who looks just as perplexed as I feel. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You should apologize for your negative energy,” she says to me, never raising her voice, never changing her tone. Just holding my gaze with an eerie serenity.
“I’m sorry?” I say, but I’m not. She’s freaking me out.
“Your negative vibe is affecting this whole block, Rachel,” she says, then sweeps her arm behind her to the window. Saturday traffic streams by—joggers and walkers and families happily heading to lunch, to yoga, to kombucha. But in here, I’m getting lectured for my…bad energy.
Fable clears her throat. “Excuse me. Who are you?”
“I’m Ava. And the negativity from this quadrant is so strong, I can feel it all the way up the street at my spa. I own Haven Spa.” Then she raises her hand, finding the chain at her throat, tugging it from her blouse, and revealing a rose-gold lotus pendant, similar to the one I sell, but not exactly the same.
I gasp.
No, please no, please don’t let this woman be who I think she is. “My husband bought me this for my birthday. From another store.”
The hair on my arms stands on end.
Apologies form on my tongue, but they’re so tangled, so messy I don’t even know where to start.
She’s the wife of the man who called me a stupid bitch in an online review.
But that’s not the worst thing.
She’s also been my secret benefactor, sending friends here to shop after their facials and hot-stone massages.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling like a chastened child.
Ava presses her hands together and says, “I’ll be sending you healing energy, Rachel.” Then with a steadying breath, she lifts her face, resolute, like a warrior. “But I can’t, in good harmony with the universe, send my clients to you anymore.”
She turns and sails away into the San Francisco afternoon.
I twirl the book-shaped charm on my necklace and stare at the snow-covered cabin in the painting behind my therapist’s cushy chair. It’s homey and warm in here. The opposite of my barren heart.