Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
I cringed. “Okay, pass.”
“Exactly.”
I chuckled. The best thing about Lucille was that it didn’t matter what the hell she was saying. She said everything with a straight face and more conviction than a preacher on Sunday morning. Whether she was talking about bodily functions or space travel, she just said it matter-of-factly and then acted surprised when you were shocked. She had no filter and I kind of loved that about her, because I could trust that she’d always give it to me straight.
She continued to explain her rigorous hiring techniques. “And don’t even get me started with Shawn. That man is a whack job. Conspiracy theories, baby goats, and baseball are his entire life. With a side of being an ass to his ex-wife and his oldest son. I’d sooner set myself on fire than work alongside him.” Her lips set into a firm line as she crossed her arms over her chest and settled back in the booth.
“And another pass.” I grabbed the remaining papers and counted them. “That leaves us with six people. That’s not enough to operate a food truck, much less an entire restaurant.”
She pulled the papers from my hands, flipping through them before quickly discarding four more. “Nope, that leaves us with two. Don’t worry though. These two could probably run this place with their eyes closed.”
I let out a frustrated sigh and dropped my forehead to my palm. “Great.”
Lucille dug her phone from her purse. “Let me make some calls. I know a few people who might be up to a little change of scenery.”
Oh, wonderful. We were poaching employees from other restaurants now. Surely that would endear me to the rest of the local businesses.
I didn’t stop her though.
As she paced around the restaurant with her phone to her ear, barking like she was collecting money for the mob, my mind drifted back to Truett.
He’d be back the next day to help again, and there was so much to be done, but all I could think about was that the only work I wanted him to do was on me.
“Earth to Gwen.” Lucille snapped her fingers inches in front of my face as she slid back into the booth. “Where’d ya go?”
“Nowhere,” I muttered.
Her sharp eyes roamed my face for point two seconds before she blurted, “You get laid last night?”
“What? No!”
“Well, what happened, then? And don’t even try to tell me you’re thinking about renovations. No paint has ever made a woman get stars in her eyes like that.”
I had stars in my eyes? Fan-freaking-tastic.
“I do not have stars in my eyes. I don’t even know what that looks like outside of cartoons.” I looked away quickly, my cheeks heating.
“Mmhm, sure.” She leaned across the table and used one finger under my chin to turn my head back to face her. “Stars. Blush. And a glow. Don’t tell me you didn’t get laid.”
I swatted her hand away. “I didn’t!”
“You know butt stuff still counts, right?”
“Oh my God!” I groaned. “Can we drop this?”
“Sure,” she chirped. But she didn’t move on or change the subject. She just sat there staring at me, tapping her pink fingernails on the table.
I did need somebody to talk to. A woman who called herself Cooter was probably a horrible choice when it came to the romance department, but she was there.
“Let me ask you a question.”
Her whole face lit. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
I rolled my eyes. “You ever been married before?”
“Three times.” She settled back in her seat and crossed her arms over her bust. “First one was when I was eighteen. Lasted about eight seconds. Realized that I didn’t really enjoy ironing a man’s pants while studying for an algebra test. Though I didn’t really learn my lesson, either. Four years later, I was walking down the aisle again. This time to an older guy who I thought hung the moon. Turns out he was just a good actor until he got that ring on my finger.” She made a sour face and stuck her tongue out. “He gave me my babies, but besides that, he was a nasty, miserable man. Nothing I did was ever right. Meals were overcooked one day, undercooked the next. House was never clean enough. I wasn’t ever dressed up enough for him. Blah, blah, blah. The list just went on and on and on. Then, one day he just keeled over, right there in the plate of lasagna that he’d just complained didn’t have enough sauce. Dead as a doornail.”
All I could do was blink at her. She’d just told me a lifetime of trauma like she was recapping a movie. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
She waved a hand in my direction and laughed. “Oh, please. Nothing to be sorry about. It was a long time coming.”
I swallowed hard. “When you say long time coming, you didn’t…like, off him, did you?”