Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
And more comes with all kinds of problems—namely, heartbreak.
“Maybe you two should talk about it?”
“No.” I scoff. “The sex is way too good to risk ruining it.”
“Right. Of course.” She takes another sip. “Hey, by the way, what’s it called when a squatter brings in her own squatter?”
I pour myself an extra-large cup of coffee. “I don’t know, but at least my squatter puts out.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The man throws his hands in the air. “How was I supposed to know?”
“Sand in a washing machine? Sand?” His wife shoots him an incredulous look. They’re a young couple, late twenties by my guess, married six months ago.
“These new machines, they are fickle. Get enough of those little grains in the system, and there’s no fixing them. Don’t make ’em like they used to.” Ned pats the floor model they’ve just selected. “Come on over to my counter, and we’ll get you sorted. Might want to think about an extended warranty.”
The man looks to his wife. “Hun, do we want an extended warranty—”
“Yes.” She shakes her head at her husband as he trails Ned to the counter. “This is what happens when you marry a man who lives at home with his mother until your wedding day. I don’t think he did a load of laundry his entire life.”
“Believe me, I get it. I had to housebreak my ex when he moved in with me.” I note the absence of that sharp sting at the mention of Bill. “It’s April. What’s with the sand?” It’s not like he was washing grimy beach towels.
“Indoor beach volleyball. But don’t ask me how he brought so much home with him. Anyway, thanks so much for your help. Way better customer service than those guys across town.”
“That is our official slogan.”
She reunites with her husband just as Joe’s assigned ringtone trills in my pocket. With no customers to focus on, I answer. “Two and a half weeks till the big day!” And three days until the bachelorette party—an event I’m still dreading, despite the opportunity to see Garrett again.
“Yeah, trust me, I’m counting down until the day after, when we’re on a plane out of here.” Joe’s breath is uneven. Horns honk in the background. He must be on his way to a client meeting.
“What’s wrong? Rushed wedding planning not fun?”
“No. Not when I’m drowning at work. And not when your guests leave you hanging. Sara needs to know if you’re bringing a plus-one.”
“Oh shit. She messaged me about that. I don’t know.” The plan was to bring Dean but now, with this thing with Garrett … What even is this thing?
He groans. “We’re running out of time, and we need to finalize seating charts. We’re doing a round head table instead of a long one for the bridal party. Sara and I’ll sit alone together.”
“Great. So I get to sit across from them for the entire night?”
“Fine. You want to sit with Mom and Dad? I can do that.”
I hesitate. “What did Garrett put in?”
“Who, Sara’s cousin? The fuck if I know.” A horn blasts. “Wait, why? Are you telling me that wasn’t just a drunken one-night thing? Is there something going on between you two?”
“No! I don’t know. Just … find out what he put down for me, okay? But don’t tell Sara you’re asking.”
“Why?”
“Just because! Then she’ll tell him I’m asking, and what if it’s just a casual hookup for him—”
“You know what, I don’t want the details. But can you please make sure you don’t want to kill two of my groomsmen by the time my wedding day comes around?”
“No promises. Hey, I could kill Bastard Bill and use the sperm from one of Garrett’s condoms to frame him.”
A weird, strangled sound answers me.
I grin. “Was there anything else?”
“Yeah. Have you talked to Mom yet today?”
“No. Should I?”
Joe’s sigh fills my ear. “Okay. I figured you’d want to hear it sooner rather than later.”
“Hear what?” Unease slides down my spine. I think I already know what he’s about to say.
“Bill and Isabelle are engaged.”
I hiss as a pin pricks my skin.
Dottie winces. “Sorry, love. I’m better at doing this on myself, if you can believe that.” She carefully slides the pin through the seam line at the bust. “There, that should do it.” Taking a few steps back, she cocks her head. “What do you think?”
I study myself in the mirror. “I can’t tell.” The dress looks more like Frankenstein’s monster, the material hacked apart and handstitched back together. But she has brought the hem up to a suitable short-person length. I’m not even telling Sara. In the grand scheme of ways I can ruin their big day for them, my altered hemline should be the least of her worries.
“Trust me. With my sewing machine, these seams will look fabulous.”
“It’s a definite improvement already.” Scarlet scoops a spoonful of yogurt out of the cup and sucks on the utensil.