Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“It’s so funny running into you here,” she chirps, and something in her eyes causes me to instantly go on guard. “I was going to call Pearl and ask her for your phone number. She mentioned you don’t have any family in town, and I’m having a barbecue tomorrow. I wanted to invite you over, since there will be lots of people there.”
“I . . . oh . . . well, I . . . that’s very nice,” I stutter out, then add a touch of defeat to my tone. “I would love to come, but tomorrow I have to work.”
Her expression falls but then turns hopeful as she asks, “What time do you get off work?”
“Around five.”
“That’s perfect.” She claps, making my pulse jump. “You can come over after you get off, since we won’t even start the grill until a little before then.”
“I . . .” I start to say I can’t, but with the way she’s looking at me, I can’t force the words out. What the heck is happening right now, and why do I feel like I’m being played? Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I say the only thing I can. “I would love to come.”
“Great.” She digs into her bag, which is sitting in the front of the cart, and continues talking. “I’ll just take your number and text you my address.” She pulls out her phone, then waits for me to rattle off my number. A moment after she types it into her cell, my phone rings. “That’s me. Just ignore it for now and store it when you have a chance.” She grins, then leans toward me. “This must be serendipity: me wanting to invite you over, then running into you today.”
“It must be,” I agree.
Her smile seems to grow, and she touches my arm again. “It was nice meeting you, Anna, and I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”
I’m not sure I agree, especially if her son is going to be there. “Is there anything you want me to bring?”
“Nope, I’ve got it covered.” She waves her hand over the cart she’s still holding on to with one hand. “Just bring yourself and your appetite.” Her phone rings in her hand, and she looks at the screen, then me. “Sorry, I need to take this, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.” I get one more smile from her before she walks away, putting her phone to her ear. I shake my head; then, with nothing else to do, I finish shopping and head home, not sure how I feel about what’s just happened.
Following the directions on my phone, I turn left and then start to look for somewhere to park when the automated voice tells me I’ve reached my destination. The entire street is packed with cars, which makes me wonder if everyone parked on the street is going to the same barbecue I am. I finally find an empty space down the block, shut down the engine, and pull down the visor to look at myself in the mirror. I knew I would be coming here right after work, so I brought a change of clothes to the bakery and am now wearing a pair of cute black linen shorts, a white tank, and my favorite wedge espadrilles.
Frowning at my tired-looking reflection, I grab my purse from the passenger seat and dig through it for my travel makeup bag. I carefully add a couple of swipes of mascara to my lashes, a little blush to my cheeks, and my favorite berry-tinted lip gloss. Once I’m done, I pull in a breath and let it out slowly, then get out of my car and grab a box of cookies and bars from my trunk.
As I walk down the block, taking in the moderate-size homes and the trees lining the streets, I wonder if Calvin grew up here. Or if he rode his bike down this street. Or parked on the block when he was in high school, away from his parents’ house, so he could have a few more minutes to make out with whatever girl he was dating at the time—something that I imagine changed frequently. I scan the house numbers until I reach a white house with dark-blue shutters, flowers lining the walkway, and a huge hot-pink summer-themed wreath on the door with a large flamingo drinking from a martini glass in the center. I walk toward the front door, picturing Elsie outside wearing a big floppy hat and gloves, playing in the dirt each spring and fall, tending to the yard. It’s a task my mother wouldn’t be caught dead doing. Not when she could pay someone to do it for her.
“Let me help you with that,” a man says, and I turn to find a good-looking guy who appears about my age with blond hair and brown eyes coming up the steps behind me.