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)
“What?” She frowns. “Not gonna let me in? Got a guy over?” She peeks around me, adopting a playful look. “Hi, mystery guy! I’m your hook-up’s sister! I’m here to ruin your morning!”
She only gets out about half those words before I tug her into the house and out of earshot of everyone in Spruce.
That’s when I notice the rolling suitcase on the porch.
“Had some PTO that was about to expire,” she explains, “so I thought what better way to use them than come home and harass my cute brother?”
I’m trying to switch my brain into greeting mode.
It just won’t happen.
“You don’t really have a guy here, right?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. I was … I was just on my way to … to the shop, actually, because—”
“Oh, you work weekends? That’s fine. Haven’t seen it in years. I’ll come with.” She grabs her luggage off the porch, kicks it inside the house leaving it rolling halfway across the kitchen—it bumps against the cabinet and comes to a stop—then she stops in front of me. “Is there still that tiny icky closet of a bathroom at the shop? Gotta run next door to the Crafty Carson if you really gotta go? I downed a whole Route 44 on the way here. Y’know what? I’ll just pee here before we head out, then give you a hug. No hugging while I gotta go this bad. Can’t have you squeezin’ any outta me.”
She whirlwinds her way down the hall toward the bedroom bathroom rather than the guest one, but stops at the door. “By the way: checkmate.” She laughs and disappears into the bathroom.
I haven’t checked my chess app in days.
And therefore don’t connect what she says to what she means for a moment, thinking it could mean so many other things.
Checkmate, I’ve come crashing back into your life at the most inopportune time.
Checkmate, you don’t get to solve your issues with Diego.
Checkmate, a third bossy entity just entered the ring of life.
Connie insists that we walk to the store because she’s been cramped in a car for the last four hours and misses Spruce.
And her commentary is endless: “Oh, Patsy’s still around and baking pies? Thought she croaked last year.” Then: “Tell me Billy and Tanner are still together. I had this scary dream about them, a totally intense dream, and it did not end well.” Then: “Did you do breakfast? I’m dying for a plate of those legendary crepes from the Loves. Something about coming home, diet goes out the window.” Finally: “What the hell’s that big thing? Did Spruce get a gym??”
Then she’s walking into the flower shop. “Oh my God, it’s still so adorable!!”
And when I’m in the back: “You haven’t replaced the counter? Didn’t Mom and Dad wanna do that way back when? Wyatt, why’s a stack of greeting cards here by the register? You sellin’ them?”
Then she’s asking why my receipts aren’t better organized.
Then straightening my shelves and asking why I don’t have any of “those big plump purple things Mom adored that smell like cough medicine”.
Then telling me about a funny encounter she had at a Buc-ee’s just off the highway before hitting the Spruce exit.
Then she’s at my calendar. “You work too many hours! Give yourself three-day weekends like a normal person, I mean, dang it, don’t you ever masturbate?”
I’m rubbing my eyes so hard, they might fall out of my skull after listening to her introducing herself to every customer that comes in. “Connie. Yep, Connie Callahan, formerly almost Connie Conner, which was in fact not the worst act my almost husband did to me before calling off the wedding last year. No, no ma’am, no wedding for me in the future. Yep, I’m this one’s big sis. I used to run this place when I lived here. This shelving arrangement up here? All me. My idea. You’re probably wondering why my almost husband called off the wedding. I’ll give you a hint: secretary. It’s always the gosh-danged secretary. Never trust a blonde in heels.”
Funny she says that, not knowing that Mrs. Nadine Strong, a blonde notorious for her heels and hoop earrings, is now Mayor.
It’s noon on the dot that Cash walks in, strolls past my sister thinking she’s a customer, dumps his backpack behind the counter with a thump, and asks me if he should get on misting the roses.
Connie is on him the next instant. “Who’s this doll face? You got yourself a cute little employee?”
“My sister,” I say for an introduction. “This is Cash. He works here once a week.”
“Just one day? What’s even the point? Hi, I’m Connie, former brains of the operation, as is evidenced by the brainlessness of the current operation. Just joshin’ ya,” she quickly says with way too forceful a nudge into my side, “but seriously, spend a little more to make a little more. Kids need summer allowances. You going off to college, Mr. Cashmere?”