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)
“I’m telling you, they skimped. They’re doing it with everything these days! I swear this can of Coke is smaller than the one I bought last week.”
“Shrinkflation, they call it.” Queenie nods.
“Does this Coke look small to you, Madison?”
She holds it up beside her head as if that’s a good metric for measurement. It looks like a standard-issue can of Coke, but I’m not about to go against Marge. “Tiny.”
“See?!” She shakes her head. “I’m calling them. Do you guys know the number?”
“For Coke?” I sound incredulous. I want to shout, We have bigger problems!
Marge nods, already reaching for the phone on her desk. “Someone’s gonna hear what I have to say.”
Between the welcome bags and Marge’s hunt to contact a higher-up at the Coca-Cola Company, the afternoon flies. Marge, to her credit, manages to find the number for the vice president of distribution, but she’s forced to leave a message with his secretary’s secretary. “You just let him know Marge Buchanan called and I’d like to give him a piece of my mind.”
“Got plans for the evening?” Queenie asks when it’s quitting time.
I’m still glued to my desk. I can’t leave until I get these invoices done. I’m about to tell Queenie this but when I look up, I see she’s eyeing my purse and the ovulation tests gently peeking out. I shove them back in and shake my head.
“I’ll be here.”
She purses her lips but otherwise keeps her opinions to herself.
It serves a dual purpose to stay late at the Wildflower Weddings offices. I can chip away at my mountain of tasks and also ensure I’m safe if Sawyer decides to show up on Queenie’s doorstep. After all, he brought the coffee and pastries this morning and he’s called me a few times today. It’s not out of the question that he’d try to see me again tonight, but it’s another day before we bump into each other organically.
I’m walking out of Golden Harvest the next morning, on the phone with Kendra—complaining to her about the current state of my mom’s business—when I see his truck pull up into the parking spot out in front of the coffee shop. My nerves seem close to bursting out of me.
“Kendra…I gotta go.”
I’ve already stopped dead on the sidewalk, but now I hang up and let the phone slide from my ear as Sawyer steps out of his vehicle. Handsome, put together, the man of my dreams. When he spots me, he stills for only a second before he slams his car door. His warm gaze slides down me, like he’s checking to see if I’m all right before he walks over.
“So you’re alive,” he notes casually. “Wasn’t sure since you didn’t return any of my calls.”
I cringe. “Yesterday was hectic…”
It’s not even a lie.
He nods and looks off, clearly annoyed with me.
“You doing okay?” I ask lightly.
His expression darkens. Somehow, I’ve offended him with the question.
“We should talk,” he states plainly.
Oh hell. Here we go.
I swallow past the nerves tightening my throat. “I agree. Yeah. Tonight?”
“Can’t. I’m leaving town this afternoon for a buddy’s bachelor party. Won’t be back until late Sunday.”
“That’s okay!” I almost sound too happy about the fact that he’s leaving town and giving me a whole weekend to ruminate on my decision going forward, so I tone it down as I continue, “Why don’t I reach out next week?”
His expression displays his frustration, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s so hard to read him. Is he upset I’m not willing to push more? Wishing he could be done with me altogether?
With a nod toward Golden Harvest, he asks, “You getting coffee?”
I hold up my latte and smile weakly. “Beat you to it.”
With that, he steps toward the door of the coffee shop, but it feels like I can’t just let him go like that. “Sawyer.”
He looks back at me over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, not wanting to hear it. “We’ll talk next week.”
Saturday night, I’m sitting beneath the red and white twinkle lights on the patio of my family’s favorite Mexican restaurant. We’ve been coming here since I was a kid, and all the waiters know us. Too well in fact.
“Margarita pitcher? Salt on the glasses?” Matt asks the table.
It’s our usual MO, but not tonight. I’m about to say I’m not drinking, but Lindsey actually speaks up first.
“None for me tonight.”
She slyly looks at David, and he smiles and leans over to squeeze her leg beneath the table. Sure, she could be skipping margaritas for a slew of reasons, but I can’t help but wonder if she’s newly pregnant.
David looks to me. “You in?”
I shake my head and quickly pick up my menu, hoping he won’t question me about it.
“Well Queenie, looks like we’ll have to hold it down for everyone tonight.”
I’m quieter than usual, happy to let David and Mom chatter away while I watch Cruz enjoy the small jungle gym the restaurant was smart enough to install just beside the patio. It’s one of the reasons the restaurant’s a fan favorite in our town. Parents can come have dinner while their kids run around, wild and free.