Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
He was apologizing. To me. Sound the alarms.
“It’s fine,” I told him. “If I think of something I need, I’ll tell you.” Then it was my turn to hesitate. “If you two need anything too, let me know.” I’d be there until I… until I wasn’t. Then I remembered. “Can I ask one question though? You know, just so I know. How many people live in the house with you?”
I could tell he was watching me carefully before he answered. “It’s only Amos and me.”
Exactly what I’d thought.
“Okay.” At least he wasn’t kicking me out. Since he wasn’t, I was going to take advantage of it.
I extended my hand toward him, and a big, cool one slipped into mine, giving it a solid, slow shake.
I smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, but that was all right.
Before he could change his mind and kick me out, I backed up. “Goodnight,” I called out and slipped inside the garage apartment, flipping on the lights and the lock before running up the steps.
Through the window, I watched Mr. Rhodes pull his Bronco up into his usual spot in front of the house. He opened the passenger door and pulled out two white bags with the name of one of the two fast food places in town stamped on them. Then I kept on watching as he went inside.
Well, I was still here.
And hopefully would be for another two weeks.
Or at least as long as possible.
Chapter 6
“Bless your heart, honey, you don’t need to apologize,” the older man said with a smile so filled with sugar I was going to get a cavity.
His friend, bless his heart, winked. “How could we ever get mad at such a sweet face, right, Doug?”
My whole body went rigid at their kind words. Words spoken by two very nice customers that I’d been trying to help but couldn’t. I’d known from the moment they had walked up to the counter holding two fishing rods that they were going to ask me something I wouldn’t be able to answer, so I’d been prepared.
Hell, the first thing out of my mouth had been, “Let me get someone who can help you with any questions you might have on those rods.”
I had tried, and I knew I had tried to avoid having to stand there like a dummy. I’d memorized most of the prices for the models we carried. I even had a couple of the brands we carried burned into my brain, but that was absolutely it. What the differences between them were, much less why they should get a longer rod versus a shorter one, or even what kind of fishing—or angling as some customers had called it—they were used for, I had no clue.
So when the man who had to be in his early fifties ignored my words and went ahead and asked, “What’s the difference between these? Why is this one twice the price?” I’d been pretty resigned.
If we’d been less busy, I could have yelled for Clara across the room. But she was behind the rental counter, talking to a small family about something. Jackie was in the back taking her break, and the only part-time employee I’d met—for the first time that morning—had hung around for about two hours before waving and saying he’d be back.
Clara and I had looked at each other from across the room, and I’d suddenly understood, even more so than before, how much of a pickle she was in with employees.
For the record, he hadn’t come back.
The two men though kept on ignoring me trying to pawn them off on Clara.
I was glad and relieved that they weren’t being mean or impatient, but I couldn’t help but have my feelings be hurt anyway. I knew that I had gotten myself out of more pickles than I could ever count because some people found me attractive and I was pretty friendly by nature. Despite getting pulled over at least ten times, I had never gotten a ticket, even though some of my friends claimed I drove like a maniac. I just didn’t like to waste time. What was wrong with that? My cousins had teased me nonstop for the way people treated me for something I’d had nothing to do with.
But at the same time, my genetics were kind of a curse. Some men tended to be misogynistic. Sometimes I got treated like I was an airhead. And a lot of times, I got more attention than I wanted, especially when it was the uncomfortable kind.
I listened and I tried my best at just about everything, and I had a good heart—as long as you hadn’t wronged me. And all those things were a lot more important to me than what was on the outside.
I didn’t want to get babied. It made me uncomfortable.