Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Crawford reaches over the seat to roll down the window, smiling at me from behind the wheel. “Want a ride?”
I cross my arms. “Does your grandson know you’re here being nice to me?”
“Well he’s the one who told me to come pick you up…”
“Where’s Queenie?” I ask suspiciously as I get to my feet and swipe the dirt from my backside.
“Finishing up that rehearsal you walked out on. We could all hear you and Sawyer, by the way. Not like you two were trying to keep your voices down.”
“Great.” I yank open the door and slide onto the weathered seat, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Don’t fret. I’m glad y’all were shouting, that way I could hear properly. The whole thing sounded real interesting and Sawyer’s all worked up, but I guess not enough that he wasn’t worried about you out here all on your own.”
I keep my gaze focused out the window. “I don’t care about Sawyer.”
“All righty. Message received loud and clear. Why don’t I put on some music for us?”
He barely touches the volume dial before I launch in, “For the record, I didn’t do anything wrong. Not really. I might have told Kendra I was going through with her plan, but I didn’t ever actually do anything to Sawyer. I wanted to go on dates with him and I really liked him. Or so I thought.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Again he reaches for the volume dial, but he’s not fast enough.
“It’s just what is he doing with Charlotte? Is he really going to pursue something with her? Because they aren’t a good match if you ask me. What do you think?”
“I—”
“Never mind, don’t answer that. What am I doing still worrying about Sawyer? He kicked me off the vineyard, you know.”
“I heard.”
“And I swore I’d never go back. How am I supposed to help Queenie with that wedding next weekend? And all the other weddings thereafter?”
Crawford hums like this is a real problem. “You could maybe try to talk to him and smooth things over? I think you’re both owed an apology.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Oh ho, no way. Sawyer’s not getting an apology out of me.”
“All right, so then it’s a proper fight you’re after. Good. I thought I saw some fire in you the first day we met.”
I peer over at him curiously. His profile looks so much like Sawyer’s. He has the same deep-set dimples even when he’s not really smiling. But something’s off. “Why are you being nice to me? Aren’t you on Sawyer’s side?”
“Of course.” He nods. “I love my grandson, which is why I’m here right now, driving you home. Smoothing troubled waters.”
“Can’t smooth these waters,” I insist.
He chuckles under his breath like he knows something I don’t.
I don’t bother asking him what it is. Frankly, I don’t care to hear it.
CHAPTER 14
I can’t work at the Wildflower Weddings office today. I mean, I could, it’s just we no longer have internet. Marge accidentally spilled her coffee on our modem this morning.
“How was I supposed to know that thing was hidden under all my magazines?”
Queenie reassured her it was “all good,” but when the internet guy showed up an hour later with a replacement modem, he took one look at our system and shook his head. “This won’t work. This whole setup must be pre-2005. We’ve got to get you going on a wireless router.”
“Wire-who-now?” Marge asked.
Not wanting to linger in the chaos, I promptly grabbed my laptop and sneaked away to the coffee shop next door. Golden Harvest is adorable and trendy; there are baristas with beanies and acoustic jams filtering through the speakers. We had nothing like this in Oak Hill while I was growing up. If my parents wanted to-go coffee, they’d have to swing by the Presbyterian church and hope there was a pot brewing in the front lobby. And if the minister happened to see them come in, game over. My brother and I would be stuck out in the car for fifteen, twenty minutes, bemoaning our circumstances and boredom. That man loves to yap.
I’m reveling in my plentiful megabits per second and my perfectly brewed chai latte when the bell over the door chimes and I spot brunette shining curls.
No!
Charlotte drinks coffee? Why? She seems plenty perky enough without it. Coffee is for people like me, morning trolls who need caffeine to give them something to live for between the hours of seven and nine AM.
She strolls in to take her place in line, and I do the only sensible thing: duck down so my face is squashed against my laptop’s keyboard and pray she doesn’t look over here. I’m still cowering a few minutes later—holding my breath as well—when I sense a presence looming over me. I suddenly feel like an innocent victim in a horror movie. Except when I peer up, it’s not a blood-thirsty murderer looming over me. It’s worse.