Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Fortunately, my exhaustion took charge and within minutes, I fell into a deep sleep.
I blinked against the bright light streaming in through the apartment’s big arched window the next morning. It was cold; I kept the blanket wrapped around myself as I walked over to the window and looked out at the four-way intersection with the Chronicle building on one corner.
Heavy snow was falling, but people were walking on the sidewalks, bundled up and engaged in animated conversations like it was a bright, sunny day.
What was wrong with these people? This was the textbook definition of a blizzard. Lots of snow had accumulated since yesterday, but shop owners were out shoveling their walks and waving at people like it was no big deal. Kids were throwing snowballs at each other and people were laughing and sipping hot drinks from paper cups.
Cold seeped in through the edge of the window and I drew back. I was going to need the warmest clothes I’d packed. When I looked through my bag, I frowned when I realized that black leggings, a long-sleeved gray T-shirt, and black flats were my best bet.
I sighed heavily and went to the bathroom to shower and change, gasping when my bare feet touched the icy black-and-white tile. I had goose bumps from head to toe until the shower water got hot, which took three minutes but felt more like ten.
The wait for my dryer to get my hair completely dry felt eternal in the freezing bathroom. When I finally finished, I left it loose around my shoulders, quickly put on some makeup and slid into my borrowed coat, moaning contentedly at the warmth it provided.
My phone had a waiting text from Blaire, which I read as I waited for my coffee to brew.
Blaire: Hey, I’m driving for the next 40 minutes. Call if you’re free.
She’d called thirty-five minutes ago, so I quickly pushed the button on my phone to call her.
“Hey, how’s Minnesota?” she said brightly.
“Ugh, it’s basically a reverse hell. With icicles instead of flames.”
She laughed. “But worth it, right? Because of the inheritance?”
“Um, no. I inherited a weekly newspaper.”
After a moment of silence, she said, “Oh.”
“Yeah, exactly. I’m going to sell it.”
“Well, you’re only there for a few more days,” she reminded me. “Missed you at hot yoga this morning.”
God, sweating my ass off at hot yoga sounded good now. Blaire and I went to an early hot yoga class Wednesdays through Saturdays, and we usually walked to a nearby juice bar after class on Saturdays since we didn’t have to work.
“Where are you heading?” I asked her.
“I’m picking up Laney and we’re meeting Mom for our Napa weekend.”
I smiled, feeling a pang of longing for what Blaire had. She was close with her sister and her mom. They always included me in things, but I felt like an outsider every time.
“Sounds amazing,” I said. “Have a blast.”
“You too. Hey, Laney’s on her way out. I have to go. Call me later. And don’t get hit by any falling icicles.”
“I’ll try not to.”
As I set my phone on the chipped Formica kitchen counter, the coffee maker made a sputtering noise and dropped a bunch of brown goo into the pot.
“Come on,” I griped. “You’ve been making coffee for at least thirty years, and you pick today to break down?”
I picked up the pot and sniffed it, cringing. It went straight into the kitchen sink. I’d have to find a restaurant close by, which was okay because I was both hungry and in need of coffee.
I grabbed my bag and left the apartment, locking up and heading down to the newsroom. Bess was sitting at her desk, immersed in something on her computer screen.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Morning. Did you sleep okay up there?”
“I slept great. It’s pretty cold in there, though.”
“Yeah, this building is heated with an old boiler and there’s not much insulation. It gets drafty in the winter.”
I nodded. “Well, I guess as long as it works…”
Bess shrugged. “It’s temperamental, but Mike Kemper can always coax it into working. Pete never had the money to replace it.”
Now I felt bad for complaining about the cold in the apartment. The Sven’s Beard Chronicle was clearly nothing fancy, but my uncle had taken pride in it, and the employees likely did, too. I needed to stop with the negative comments.
“Speaking of things that don’t work around here,” Bess said, peering at me over the top rim of her glasses. “When you wash your hands in the bathroom, only use the hot water.”
I arched a brow, confused. “I used both hot and cold yesterday and it was fine.”
She sighed heavily. “Well, you’d know better than I would.”
Eager to escape her heavy sarcasm, I buttoned my coat and smiled brightly at her.
“Where’s the closest place I can get breakfast?” I asked.