Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 77(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 77(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
It takes a while to get used to, but once I get the hang of it, driving his truck is pretty easy. So much easier than mine, to be honest.
When I arrive at the town square, it makes me smile. No one has removed the Christmas decorations yet—the twinkling lights on the storefronts, wreaths on lampposts and doors, and a towering Christmas tree by the grocery store.
Few people mill about, and it doesn’t take me longer than twenty minutes to finish ticking off everything on my list.
After loading all the groceries and toiletries in the back, I pull my cardigan tighter around me—a little surprised at the crisp air—and sprint to the bakery nestled in the corner.
The words, “Delia’s Delicious Goods - Baked Fresh Everyday” are painted at the top of the glass display window.
Even all the way from here, I can smell the aroma of bread and pastries.
As I open the door, the overhead bell jingles and an older woman looks up from the counter. Her silver hair is pulled neatly into a bun, and she smiles at me, her soft, hazel eyes warm and welcoming.
She’s wearing a pink apron with a “Best Baker” print. Her hands are dusted with a fine layer of flour, and when she adjusts her red horn-rimmed glasses, some of the flour ends up on her cheekbone.
“Good morning. How may I help you today?”
“Oh. I was just gonna look around.” Smiling, I point to her cheek. “You have a bit of flour.”
She giggles and grabs a small towel tucked in her apron pocket to wipe her face. “Sometimes, I get so carried away with baking that I always end up with bits of the ingredients sticking to me.”
“Are you Mrs. Dawson?”
“Yes. And you are? I’m sorry, dear. It’s either you’re passing by for the holidays, new in town, or my memory’s failing.”
“Ah. None of the above, I guess. I used to live here a couple of years ago. I’m Nora Kirkpartrick.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Keith’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. Then, take your pick. It’s on the house.”
I wave my hands and shake my head. “Absolutely not, Mrs. Dawson.”
“It’s a welcome gift. Or welcome back gift. Whatever you prefer.”
“I’m walking out of here right now if you give them for free.”
She laughs softly, the melodic sound ringing throughout the small bakery. “Fine. You’re just like your brother. Now I’ll leave you to grab whatever you want.”
I smile gratefully at her and grab a tray and plastic tongs.
Everything looks so good, and I don’t doubt this day will end with me in a sugar coma. I take some old-fashioned sugar cookies with green, white, and red sprinkles, biscotti dipped in white chocolate, chocolate fudge, bread pudding, and cinnamon rolls. I add gingerbread cookies and some flaky croissants for good measure.
Who’s gonna stop me, anyway? It’s one of the reasons I love being an adult. No one can tell me no if I want to eat nothing but sweets and pastries the whole day.
Mrs. Dawson starts ringing them, and after showing me the total, she peers at me over her glasses. “Do you like pies, dear?”
I give her a wide grin, and she lifts a finger. “Give me a minute.”
She comes back a few seconds later, bringing a pie with a lattice crust and burnt sugar on top. She slides it in a box and adds it to my bag. “Before you say anything, we’re giving this away to our first ten customers under one condition. You come back if you like it.”
God, I love this woman. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
I’m carefully setting the bag on the passenger seat when I feel someone behind me. I pivot to find a beautiful woman wearing a dress over black tights and leather boots. Her brows are pulled together, and she’s pinching her lips in a tight, flat line. But her attention isn't on me but on the Bronco.
“Excuse me, do you need something?”
Her gaze swings to me, and I almost recoil at how cold her stare is. “Why are you driving this car?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why are you driving Noah’s car? This is his, right?”
“Yes. I borrowed it because he’s still fixing mine.”
“I thought he won’t accept customers until the second week of January?”
She crosses her arms and taps her foot.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Why’d he let you borrow his car?”
Wait a minute. What the hell is this? Some kind of interrogation?
“Who are you and why do you care?” I ask. So far, everyone here has been nice and pleasant. She’s the absolute exception.
“It’s Allison. God, I knew it.” She snickers, smiling without humor. “I knew he’d do this.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
I’m halfway to the driver’s side when she raises her voice. “Tell him it won’t work.”
My jaw is painful from how hard I’m clenching it. I don’t know what her deal is, but I’m just wasting my time entertaining her. If she has a problem with me driving Noah’s car, she should take it up with him.