Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 80176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Now, it was my turn to watch over her, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.
Not because I wasn’t willing to take care of her, but because I didn’t like the idea of her being unwell enough to need watching over.
I pulled into the parking lot of Maple’s on auto-pilot, barely registering the fact that the parking lot was full before I parked and started inside.
I walked past a gaggle of men who’d been busy looking at the antique car in the next parking lot, and nodded my head at the men when they said, ‘nice ride.’
I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, so when I face planted into something that felt very similar to a human wall, I squeaked in surprise and started to fall backwards.
“Sorry, Sweetheart.”
I looked up at hearing that slow, Southern drawl, and blinked in surprise.
“Wow,” I managed to say. “That sure did hurt.”
Please, kill me now.
He offered me his hand, and I reluctantly took it. “Thank you, Mr. Evander.”
Evander blinked. “Van is fine.”
I nodded. “Here for a burger?”
Then I mentally kicked myself in the shin. Are you fucking kidding, Kennedy? This is the best burger place in not only Hostel but also the surrounding counties!
There was only one thing that you could get at Maple’s and that was a hamburger—unless you counted the complimentary beans that Maple herself cooked in the kitchen every day from scratch.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Hungry.”
Of course, he was.
Jesus Christ, Kennedy. You’re so fucking weird.
“Righty-O,” I called, maneuvering myself around him where he still stood in the doorway, holding the door for me to enter. “Have a good one.”
Righty-O? Are you here for a burger?
Jesus.
Sidling up to the far end of the counter, I waited behind a few other customers for the line to move and watched the woman ahead of me instead of turning my head to examine the man that was standing at my back.
He had his large, tattooed arms stretched out across his chest, and he was looking at me.
I could tell.
I felt it on the back of my neck like a physical caress against my skin.
But he didn’t say a word, and neither did I.
And by the time I’d gotten up to the counter, another register had opened, and he’d moved to that line and ordered at the same time as me.
“No pickles,” I said to the lady just as Evander said, “Extra pickles.”
I grinned at him, but he didn’t look at me, his eyes studying the menu.
“I’d also like some chili cheese fries,” I said to the lady.
“You realize that those are made for two, right?” the young teen asked.
I nodded. “Yes, but since you don’t put that on the smaller order, I have to order the big order.”
She grunted something, and I had to catch the urge to roll my eyes.
She was a teenager. From the look she’d just given me, you’d have thought I’d given her a grave insult that she could never recover from.
Once I had my little buzzer, a cup filled to the brim with ice water and a bowl of beans, I took a seat at the one and only empty spot in the entire room and started to shovel them down.
Which was why I didn’t see the man—Evander—looking around the room with open curiosity to where he’d sit until he was standing right next to me.
“You mind if I share the end of your table?”
I looked down the length of the eight-person table, and then shook my head. “No, go right ahead.”
He took a seat at the opposite end, and started to shovel his own beans into his mouth, leaving me to wonder if I should bother to make small talk or just ignore him and act like he wasn’t sitting at my table.
I chose option two, and started to eat my beans while also wondering if this place knew that their lighting was shit. The acoustics weren’t all that great, either, making it almost impossible to hear anything from someone that was already directly next to you.
The same old men that I always saw at the coffee shop in the mornings were now crowding up the middle of the restaurant. Their laughter was on the verge of being too loud, but with nothing to control their exuberance—IE, their wives—they talked and joked and were having a merry old time.
Until they weren’t, and that had a lot to do with their numbers being called and their burgers being ready.
I was so engrossed watching the men get up to put the fixings on their food when the man from the opposite side of the table gestured to me with empty hands.
“Can you pass the salt?”
I reached for the salt and the pepper, handing them both to him.
“I asked for the salt,” he repeated himself.
“Okay,” I mumbled. “You got the salt.”
He held up the pepper.