Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
I’m literally handing him a whole bag of nightmares.
The guy can barely breathe.
“If that’s what you think I’d do to someone who’s passed out drunk …” I shake my head and click my tongue. “… you don’t know me at all.”
He comes back. “N-No. I didn’t mean to ask if you … y-you did anything to me like that, or took advantage, or … No, I don’t think that of you at all. I … I was just—”
“It’s fine,” I say with a smirk. “Don’t go wetting your khakis. You didn’t embarrass yourself.” I step back, then add, “Much.”
He looks down, picking at his nails. Then he squints, lifts his gaze from the grass, and asks, “By the way, did you … uh … happen to do my dishes …?”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” I grumble, then turn and head back to the house, jacket hanging heavy over my arm.
—17—
Wyatt
I’m standing outside the church and can’t focus on a thing.
Didn’t hear a word of the sermon, either.
Clarice—Kirk’s mom, sweet lady, love her to death, wish she’d give up smoking—tells me it had something to do with forgiving ourselves for the messes we make in life.
I’m just not sure the particular “mess” I made is one Reverend Trey had in mind when delivering his lovely sermon. Unless that mess on Mrs. McPherson’s rug comes out with a decently-potent oxidizing spray.
Or holy water.
Some people are splintering off and heading to lunch. Others linger in the field outside the church where the grass struggles to stay alive this time of year, giving way to patches of dirt and roots peeking out of the ground from the nearby trees. I’m lingering in the shade of one of them, wondering if I should just go or wait for Lance and Chad to pop out. I couldn’t catch them beforehand—late as I was—but wanted to apologize to him again for what happened last night. Especially considering it seems to be the only topic of conversation I’m picking up out here on the lawn. I mean, really, is there even just one person in Spruce who didn’t attend last night and stayed home on account of a sick, bologna-barfing toddler?
Am I the only person who missed Jimmy and Bobby’s number?
“Now, if it ain’t the lucky fella I was lookin’ for!”
I know exactly who it is and have zero time to prepare for the force of nature that’s marched up behind me. When I turn, Mayor Nadine Strong stands before me like a tower in her red heels—yes, red heels to church, every Sunday without fail since she won that election—and a cream-colored blouse with lilacs printed all over it fitting tight enough to parade what God gave her.
“I’m so glad I caught you ‘fore you left,” she goes on, running on a battery no one in town can match—and certainly not me with my ass still running on last night’s fumes. “I’ve got a question or two only you can answer me solid.”
I blink, perking up.
It suddenly occurs to me this might be a business thing.
Is she finally going to hire me to do the spooky flowers for her annual Halloween Bash this year? Were my centerpieces at the McPherson Estate not, in fact, done in vain?
“I’m all yours,” I tell her.
She leans in. “Do you think I should forgive the little flub last night during my son’s dance?”
I stare at her.
Now I have to pretend I have a clue what she’s talking about.
What flub? Whose flub? Bobby’s? Jimmy’s? The lighting? An audio glitch? A baby screaming out in protest in the front row?
“Y’know what? I think I won’t forgive it,” she decides, crossing her arms and cocking her head indignantly. “They had months of planning and rehearsing. And the whole thing was pushed back a few weeks, giving them even more time than usual. I think I … yes, I think I will bring it up to Cissy at brunch.”
It’s now that I finally spot Lance and Chad leaving the church. My whole reason for waiting around.
And I’m held hostage by Nadine Strong’s indecision.
“But she also just said goodbye to her son,” she goes on with a sigh, “and that sure ain’t easy. I remember Jimmy’s years away at South Wood U. Which is an awfully stupid name for somethin’ that far north. Always leavin’ back to school the second he’s home.”
Lance stops to chat with a couple of ladies, a friend or two of Cassie’s, while Chad heads off presumably to get the truck, buying me time.
Not that I’m any sooner to being freed. “But what kind of an excuse is that?” Nadine goes on, rethinking it all. “Just ‘cause your son took off to live his best life, that ain’t a reason to let a flub like that happen, and during my son’s and his husband’s big moment? I’ll have you know, it’s their dance contribution that brings in most of the attendance, and butts in seats means ka-ching for our Arts fund, and have we forgotten the point of the Ball at all? I mean—”