Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I lift my hair and sniff, but it smells just like my hair products. I swear the soup is somehow stuck in my nose, or maybe it's just still alive in my anger, and it's something that will fade with my memories of today.
There's no better way to get a jump on forgetting than a drink or two. Maybe interacting with others will knock off this restless, nervous edge that seems to be coming alive under my skin.
As much as I want to not be alone, I'm grateful to walk into the bar and see that it's not packed wall to wall with patrons. I arrow toward the bar, needing something else burning the back of my throat than bitterness from today.
"Hey there, Riley," Walker, the bar owner, says when he spots me. "What can I get you to drink?"
"Do you sell whiskey by the bottle?"
"I do," he answers with narrowed eyes, as if he can't tell if I'm being serious or not. "But if you don't finish it, you have to leave it here. It's illegal to take it out of the bar."
"Of course it is. Getting arrested is just what I need. I can see the headline now," I say, swiping my hand in front of my face as if indicating something written there. "Police Chief Cash Tucker was seen dragging a drunk caterer out of the bar."
"I imagine Bobby John Pritchard would have a field day posting that," he says with a laugh.
"He'd do it under that anonymous feature like we don't know it's him," I mutter. "I'll take a diet and Jack."
As he makes my drink, he flags me down closer to Mac Hammer.
I've spent much of my adult life avoiding this man, and that's a feat considering how small Lindell is.
Reluctantly, I get up from my seat and take the one directly beside him.
"Mac, this is Riley. Riley, this is Mac," Walker says, as if we're both new to town and trying to make friends.
"We've met before," I say, sarcastically holding my hand out to him.
He looks down at it for a long moment, like it might bite him or something before he lifts his hand to shake mine.
"We've met?" he asks, and I swear I can feel all the damn color drain from my face.
It seems my memories of him take up a larger part of my past than his does of me.
I roll my eyes as a long-suffering sigh escapes my lips and decide to pick up my drink and damn near drain the thing in one swallow.
"Not very memorable, am I?" I say when I know better. If my feelings are already hurt, I shouldn't prod the man, but I've already been disrespected once today, and that seems to be my limit.
"That's not what I meant at all," Mac stammers, his cheeks pinking slightly as if he's embarrassed for being called out. "I just... my memory is shit."
"Is that why you didn't take my advice about reaching out to her about that catering job you needed?" Walker asks him.
"Oh!" he says, snapping his fingers and pointing at me. "You're that Riley. I left a message, and she never called back."
He says the words to Walker instead of directing them at me, and that chaps my already sore ass a little further. I'm just getting it from all damn directions today.
My eyes narrow to slits as I turn every ounce of my attention to him. "You wanted me to cater chicken and dumplings. If memory serves me correctly, you urged me to kidnap Ruth and make her give me the recipe before saying that it didn't matter because no one could ever make chicken and dumplings the way Ruth does. Then you burped and told me never mind. All in the same message. Did you really expect a callback?"
The man has a lot of nerve turning it back on me as if I'm the one who was unprofessional after getting that message.
"Wow," Walker says, taking a step back like he regrets even bringing it up. "That's a lot to unpack."
"Clearly, I was drunk," he mutters, as if that makes a difference.
"Mac," Walker says, full chastisement in his tone.
Mac shrugs as he looks at Walker. "Are you going to tell me that you think she can make better chicken and dumplings than Ruth?"
I can feel half a dozen eyes turn in our direction, making me regret bringing it up. Ruth's chicken and dumplings are famous in this town. People have standing carryout orders at the café every Monday because that's the only day she makes them. I can only imagine the trouble we'd get into if someone even hinted that her food wasn't good.
"Ruth makes the best chicken and dumplings I’ve ever tasted," Walker says very diplomatically. With that declaration, some of the patrons turn their attention back to whatever they were talking about before the challenge arose.