Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
"Welcome to the Silver Spoon Inn," she greets with a warm smile, her voice smooth and inviting. "Reservation?"
"Frankie Foxworth," I reply, a hint of apprehension in my voice as I silently pray she doesn't connect the dots to my infamous family name.
Her fingers dance across the keyboard with practiced efficiency. "I have your reservation right here," she announces, her tone remaining neutral and unaffected. Relief washes over me; it seems she either doesn't recognize or isn't fazed by who I am. Victory! "Breakfast is served from seven to ten, check-out is at eleven, and should you need anything during your stay, simply dial zero." She places a sleek keycard on the polished marble countertop, its surface gleaming under the soft lobby lights. "The Wi-Fi code is your last name," she adds with a nod and a reassuring smile.
“Thanks.” I grab the keycard and my bag and take the old-fashioned elevator to the second floor.
My room is… exquisite. The bed is a sleek platform design with crisp, white Egyptian cotton sheets. Every horizontal surface gleams with polished marble, and a collection of abstract sculptures adds an artistic touch from the dresser. I place my bag gently near the entrance, slip off my tennis shoes, and sink luxuriously into the plush mattress.
I stare at the ceiling. It stares back. I imagine my mother’s voice: “What in the world were you thinking, Francesca? You could’ve done so much more with your life.”
I can’t decide if I want to laugh or scream.
Instead, I fish my phone out, plug it into the charger, and pull up Ben’s number. It rings twice before he answers, his voice crisp and unflappable as always. “Hey, little sis. Did you make it to Galveston?”
I close my eyes and count to three. “Not exactly. I’m stuck in Silver Spoon Falls. Sparkie decided to give up the ghost right outside of town.”
He sighs, and I can picture my older brother pinching the bridge of his nose. “I warned you that car is an accident waiting to happen.”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “I know you did.”
“Do you need me to send someone to get you?” He’s doing that thing where he lectures and teases at the same time, and it’s so familiar it almost makes me homesick.
I sigh. “I can take care of this on my own.”
Ben makes a little huffing sound. “How are you taking care of it?”
“I had Sparkie towed to a local auto shop. The very nice mechanic is checking her out right now.” I leave out the part where I’m lusting after said mechanic.
“Okay.” He lets it go, for now. “Did you let your new employer know you might be late?”
I don’t answer right away. There’s a tiny pulse beating in my chest, an anxious, weirdly hesitant rhythm. After meeting Seth, I’m not sure I want to make it to my new job. I press my thumb against my lips and pace the room. “I’m going to call them next.”
"I'm here if you need anything, little sis." My brother's voice echoes warmly through the phone, wrapping me in a comforting embrace despite the distance. I know how hard it is for him not to step in and take control of the situation, and I appreciate his efforts.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold back the flood of emotions. "I know you are," I reply softly. In the eyes of my parents, I might be a monumental disappointment, a tarnished reflection of their expectations. Yet, my brother stands as my unwavering pillar, my most steadfast ally.
He finally laughs, a sound filled with genuine warmth and reassurance. "Call if you need anything. Seriously, I mean it," he insists, his voice carrying the weight of sincerity and care.
"Love you," I whisper, allowing a small smile to touch my lips as I end the call before he has the chance to respond.
I toss the phone onto the bed and flop down beside it, my gaze fixed once again on the ceiling's now-familiar patterns. My pulse has gradually slowed, but my mind races in an endless loop of thoughts. Absentmindedly, I twist the intricately designed ring I inherited from my grandmother until the metal pinches against my skin.
The one thing Gramma Evans always told me was, “Follow your instincts. No matter how crazy it seems.” Well, Gramma, this is my moment to leap.
Summoning every ounce of courage, I draft an email to the cruise line, informing them of my decision not to accept the job offer after all. My finger hesitates above the send button, my heart pounding like a frantic little bird trapped in a cage, knowing that with one decisive click, I am altering the entire course of my life.
The silence in the room is suddenly huge. I flop backward, laptop closing with a soft thump, and press my arm over my eyes. My breath comes in little hiccups—panic and relief fighting for the top bunk in my chest.