Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“Just give me your name!” I snap. “Josie told me to get every customer’s name, so I need a dang name, okay?”
“Norman Wallace,” he finally says, shocking me to the center of my core. He doesn’t look like a Norman at all, but I guess my mom doesn’t look like an Eleanor either—she’s way too ritzy.
“Oh. Okay. Norman.”
He sighs. “What? You have some kind of problem with the name Norman now?”
“No,” I force myself to say with a soft voice as I write Norman on his cup with a Sharpie. “I…just wasn’t expecting it.”
He barks out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting to see you here this morning either.”
Okay, I’ve had enough of this guy’s crap. Seriously.
“Do you hate everyone, or is it just me?” I blurt out and don’t regret a single word. “I feel like it’d be really good for me to know for future reference.”
“I don’t know you enough to hate you.”
Wow. I was expecting some kind of apology or, I don’t know, outward chagrin for having treated me the way he has, and instead, I’ve been left with…whatever this is.
“How heartwarming,” I remark with a roll of my eyes and return to the coffeepot that’s almost full of something that looks suspiciously like coffee. Wow. Go me. I pour some in a cup and secure it with a lid before returning to the counter and handing it over to him.
Our fingers brush for the briefest of seconds, and a trill of energy runs through my previously twisted stomach.
Funny. I didn’t think that’s what touching pure evil would feel like.
“Have a nice life, Norman.”
The shake of his head is barely there but visible, nonetheless.
“Good luck, Norah.”
There they are, the first nice words he’s said to me since the moment we met, being used as goodbye.
Norah
“That’ll be $1.85,” I update the older, suit-wearing gentleman as I tap the keys of the cash register. He hands me two one-dollar bills, and I make quick work of his fifteen-cent change.
I don’t know where in the hell Josie is at this point, but this is customer number two who’s slipped in the door while my MIA sister has left me to run her coffee shop all by my-freaking-self. Thankfully, his second order choice—the first being a cappuccino—is something I can handle—coffee with two sugars and a little cream.
“So, you’re new in town, huh?” he questions.
I nod. “I guess you could say that.”
“Well, as the mayor of this town, I hope everyone is treating you well.”
Everyone besides Josie and the meathead who kicked me out of his truck halfway to my sister’s house. Obviously, I don’t tell him that.
I force a smile to my lips. “Everyone’s been great. And it’s nice to meet you…uh…Mr. Mayor.”
“Oh please, we don’t need to be that formal, darling.” A hearty chuckle leaves his lips. “The name’s Norman Wallace, but you can call me Norman.”
My brain hits the brakes like it’s two seconds away from causing a fifty-car pileup on a busy interstate.
“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“Norman Wallace.” He flashes a proud smile. “Better known as the man responsible for brightening up our bridge to the tune of sunny yellow.”
I can’t focus on his bridge admission or the reality that it makes zero sense for a town called Red Bridge to have a yellow bridge. But that’s probably because I’m too busy trying to understand why this is the second Norman Wallace I’m talking to today.
“Your name is Norman Wallace? Like, that’s your whole name?”
“Well, technically, it’s Norman Albert Wallace, but yes. That’s my…name.” He searches my eyes like he’s wondering why I’m one crayon short of a full box.
I don’t have to be born yesterday to figure out the odds of having two Norman Wallaces in a town this small are next to zero. Instantly, my eyes dart to the door, furiously seeking out the first Norman Wallace I met all of ten minutes ago, but he’s nowhere to be found.
“You okay, darling?” the mayor asks after I’ve managed to stand here for a good ten seconds just staring out the door, and I quickly clear my throat and push a half smile to my lips.
“Peachy.” I grab an empty cup and write the name Norman on it for the second time today. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll have your coffee ready.”
His smile showcases a what-is-happening-right-now? uncertainty, and it makes me kick my ass into gear. Cup in hand, I fill it three-fourths of the way with coffee, but the more I think about that muscly dickhead, the more I feel irritation vibrating under my skin.
I cannot believe that rat bastard gave me a fake name. And not just any name, but the name of the freaking mayor of Red Bridge, who thinks I’m on glue because, when he told me his name, I looked at him like he’d just told me his penis recorded a duet with Mariah Carey that’ll be releasing next year.