Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Not promising I will. I typically pretend it runs too late. Thankfully that’s bullshit she always buys.
Downstairs, I quickly wiggle on my flats while silently reassuring myself that my curls are tamed enough for work. While I prefer having the extra fifteen minutes to stop them from looking like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket, shit happens, which is why I made sure early on in my career to perfect the sleek high ponytail for these emergency situations.
The grabbing of my coat as well as my workbag – that doubles as a purse during the week – is swift yet instead of charging out to my car that I auto started when I only had one shoe on, I’m blocked by a piece of ripped brown paper being held down by one of the rocks from my garden alongside a gorgeous, red rose.
There’s no stopping the bright smile that jumps onto my face from the unexpected sight. I carefully lean down to pick up the morning surprise, grin growing even wider from the words left behind.
Thank you.
Two words.
Just two very simple, very common words, yet the way butterflies are fluttering around my stomach, they feel like ones he scoured the entire world searching for.
Chomping down on my bottom lip is done to prevent from swooning.
What? Of course, I know it was Mr. Green Eyes who left this. Who else could it have possibly been?! The woman across the street? Why would she leave me a thank you note and a flower? For returning her cat? She didn’t even realize the damn thing was missing. Come on. We both know who left this. Hm? Oh, don’t be silly! He was clearly just trying to express his gratitude, nothing more. This was just him being…thoughtful. Returning the kindness that was extended to him. It’s sweet. Super sweet. And from my experiences in life, if I’ve learned anything it’s that sweet without an agenda is rare in this world.
I happily add the objects to the others I’m holding and pull of an award worthy juggling act to lock my front door. On my way to my car, I brush the edge of the rose right underneath my nose, and inhale deeply, letting myself get lost in the sweet scent versus distracted by the shouting match from next door.
What! A crush?! You think I have a crush on the guy who eats my garbage? First off, that’s…that’s such a weird sentence to say, and second of all…I…don’t have time to have this conversation with you. I’m late for work, remember?
The morning pushes forward in its typical fashion. Some people are too indulged in their morning coffee or fixing their mascara to focus on the green lights while others who are clearly running late cut people off or abuse their horns to express their frustrations.
Personally?
I’m too distracted by the thoughtful gesture to care.
Outside of Teacher Appreciation week and Employee Appreciation weeks, the last time I got flowers was the Valentine’s Day the year before Chris died. He hated buying flowers. Called them a waste. Told me it would just be easier to put the cash directly in the trash. There was always a big hub bub about why they were worthless, yet every Valentine’s Day, he bit the bullet and bought a dozen. Er…correction. Had his secretary buy me a dozen and pick out a card, although he did sign the card himself. That…counts for something, right?
By the time I’m headed through the employee only entrance, my mind has managed to venture past the initial excitement of receiving such a sweet sentiment to the dangerous, obnoxious why zone.
Why’d he flip out last night? And I mean you saw him. He freaked. The. Fuck. Out. One minute he was about to speak – or at least I hope he was about to speak – and the next he was grumbling and rumbling and then fumbling away. Is he that afraid of the cops? Would it have brought him comfort or more horror if he knew I was a cop’s daughter? Was it something else? Could it possibly be anything else?
“Morning, Miss Jenkins!” A little girl cheerfully greets, putting herself directly in my path to the library.
“Morning, Sandy!” I warmly acknowledge in return. “Oh! What a beautiful bright purple bow you have on today!”
Reaching out to fix it is done at the same time she announces. “It’s da same color your jacket!”
Rather than reprimand her for the missing words – like too many parents do – I straighten out her accessory while verbally rewarding the accurate comparison. “It is the same color! You are so smart.” Once the oversized object is where it rightfully belongs in her blonde hair, I meet her glowing blue gaze again. “Do you remember how to say purple in Spanish or French?”