Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Who’s next?” Britt calls out before motioning at the blonde.
I step aside, still transfixed, not quite wanting to leave her aura though completely confused as to why.
People don’t tend to have that effect on me.
Well, people generally don’t tend to have any effect on me—which is exactly how I prefer it. I’m convinced that being unbothered is the secret to life. But something about Blondie bothers me—I’m just not sure why that is yet.
I think of the black Audi at Rich’s house earlier and the blond woman. Then I think of the rumors of some big-city author moving to town. This has to be her, but her connection to Rich is the part that doesn’t make sense. Is she living there? Did he rent out his place? He’s a lifelong bachelor with no family, at least not around here. Not much for friends either.
I need to call the man—immediately.
“Could I please get a pound of the grass-fed ground beef?” Blondie asks, her voice sugar sweet.
I press my lips flat, willing myself not to say something. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t waste my breath on someone who thinks buying grass-fed is somehow superior, but I also hate to see someone pay a 20 percent premium for meat that tastes like hot garbage.
Against my better judgment, I lean closer. “You know, the whole grass-fed thing is just a marketing gimmick.”
She turns toward me, her brows knitting in confusion as she half laughs. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s not actually healthier,” I say. “And most of the time, the cattle might be grass-fed but grain-finished. True grass-fed beef doesn’t have as much marbling. It’s dryer. Not as tasty. The cows tend to be older too. Takes more time to fatten them up. You’re paying extra for old, tough cow.”
This is the most I’ve ever spoken to a complete stranger before, but something is compelling me to not shut the hell up and I’m strangely powerless about it.
She squares her shoulders with mine. I bet she also believes all the propaganda about corn products being the root of all health issues and cage-free eggs being more nutritious.
“But there are more omega-3s in grass-fed than grain-fed,” she protests through blinking, baby doll eyes that give off an innocent vibe I don’t quite buy.
“If you enjoy eating dry, flavorless beef, then by all means, get your omega-3s.”
“No one has ever called my beef dry or flavorless,” she says with a teasing tone as she looks me up and down. “Maybe you’re cooking it wrong?”
I don’t know whether to be amused or annoyed or a little of both.
Is she flirting with me? Or trying to prove me wrong?
She walked in here all pretty and polite and has this innocent look about her, but there’s something more behind those intense deep blues of hers, like she notices more than the average person.
And I certainly didn’t peg her as being quick-witted.
A pretty face, yes.
Wiseass? No.
We linger for a moment too long, both of us looking like we have something more to say but whatever it is just isn’t making its way to either of our lips.
“Here you are, sweetheart,” Britt hands over a pound of grass-fed ground beef wrapped tight in brown paper. “And I hate to say it, but Hunter’s right.”
I fight a satisfied smirk and nod at Britt while keeping my gaze trained on Blondie. “See? Straight from the butcher herself.”
The blonde thanks Britt before playfully rolling her eyes at me. I’ve got at least a solid foot of height on her, and the playful way she looks up at me just now sends a strange tightness to my chest that I don’t quite know what to make of. The second she pulls her attention off me, I find myself immediately missing it, wishing for another minute or two of that sweet sass that gets me frustrated and fired up all at the same time.
I head to the checkout. Five minutes later, I’m climbing into my truck when I notice the shiny black Audi SUV parked a few spots down.
That was definitely her in there—the same girl I saw going to Rich’s earlier.
Judging by the amount of food she was buying, she must be sticking around for a while. Rich has been a bachelor as long as I’ve known him, in his mid-sixties, about as tall as he is wide, and his main hobby is playing the penny slots at the casino three towns west of here. He couldn’t land this woman on his best day.
On my way home, I finally call Rich to figure out what the hell is going on.
It goes straight to voicemail.
4
Wren
The back hatch of my Audi beeps open, and a bag of tortilla chips makes a slow-motion tumble to the ground.
“Perfect.” Crouching to grab it, I brush off a thin film of driveway dust. People who say the city is dirty have clearly never experienced country life.