Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
By the time I answer, the call has gone to voicemail. The way my luck is going, it’s probably for Connor. Today is turning out to be a great day to get a new phone number. Again. It’s about all I can do to remove myself from this situation. A voicemail message notification appears on screen so I play it.
“Connor, sweetie,” says a woman’s voice. “It’s Grandma. My phone’s almost out of battery. I need you to come get me from the park. My knee is acting up and I don’t think I can go much farther. I’ll just sit on one of the benches and wait for you.”
Dammit. I try to call her back, but there’s no answer. Then I attempt to call Connor’s mom, but there’s no answer there either. What to do? I can’t just freak out and leave someone’s grandmother stranded. The internet confirms that there are at least a dozen parks in the area. Today officially sucks.
Which is when it occurs to me that I do have someone I can ask for help. My new arch nemesis. Not that I had an old one.
Me: If grandma was walking and stopped at a park, which one would it be?
Ava: Which park?
Me: Yes.
Ava: Arcadia.
Me: Thanks.
The large park on the waterfront is only a couple of minutes’ drive. As I get out of my car, I’m again struck by how everything is so vibrant and green here. Even the air tastes different. And sure enough, someone sits waiting near the welcome sign. Her silver hair is neatly bobbed, and a smile lights up her face as she watches children playing nearby.
I don’t have a lot of experience with grandparents. My grandmother died when I was young, and my father hasn’t talked to his folks in years. Of course, there’s still Grandpa with the fire emoji. But he lives alone on the other side of the country and doesn’t encourage visitors. There’s a chance I come by some of my antisocial tendencies honestly.
With a polite smile, I walk over. “Ma’am, my name is Riley. I have your grandson’s old cell number. It was me you called about needing a ride.”
“Shoot. He gave me his new number the other day, but I hadn’t gotten around to putting it in my phone yet. I left the number at home on the kitchen counter. Not that it would matter since the damn phone is dead anyway.” She clicks her tongue. Then she gives me and my Jeep a look over. “It’s awfully nice of you to come help me.”
“Can I call someone for you or give you a lift somewhere?”
“I would love a lift. It’s not far.” She slowly gets to her feet. “Are you a friend of Connor’s?”
“No, ma’am. I just happen to have gotten his old number.”
She frowns. “But I could have sworn I’ve heard your name recently and it was something to do with my grandson. Riley, did you say?”
“Yeah.” This is the part where I wince my heart out. Just experience all the cringe. “There seems to be some gossip going around town about Connor and me.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s ridiculous. We’ve never even met so how could we be dating?”
“That’s what it was. There’s always talk in this town about someone.” She settles in her seat and asks with the sweetest of smiles, “Any idea how this gossip got started?”
“Um…”
Ava misunderstood the situation—that much is certain. But I don’t know. My arch nemesis could be innocent, and it makes me hesitant to lay blame. There’s a small chance she didn’t mean for the nonsense about Connor and me to spread. What if she was just talking to a friend and they blabbed it all over town? Because what does spreading word (real or otherwise) of Connor seeing someone even achieve?
My passenger waits a moment before continuing. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”
“I just moved here.”
“Where from?” she asks with the same sweet, guileless smile.
“Las Vegas.”
“You’re a city girl?”
“That’s right.”
“Goodness,” she says. “What a change.”
“It sure is. Where would you like to go, ma’am?”
“Call me Martha. I’m headed to The Mermaid Cafe. Do you know where that is?”
“No, but I can look it up.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll direct you.” And she does.
Martha is adamant about buying me a coffee to say thank you. It turns out the cafe is off Beach Street, only a couple of blocks from my new place. Though almost everything in this small town is. The café is in a narrow, weathered two-story building with a couple of tables sitting out in front. Above them on the exterior of the building is a sculpture of a mermaid. A wooden one like you would see on the front of a pirate ship. One of the tables is already occupied by two women of similar age to Martha. The first is busy knitting while the second works on a cross-stitch.