Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Maisie made her way to the front, where only one cashier worked. She stood in line and watched the train come and go. It didn’t matter how many times she huffed; the cashier wouldn’t move any faster. This was part of small-town life, where everyone knew each other, even when they didn’t.
She finally paid for her items and as soon as she stepped outside, she saw it had started raining. Not just a drizzle, but a downpour. Maisie remembered she had parked at the end of the parking lot to increase her steps for the day. She contemplated waiting, but really wanted to get home.
As soon as Maisie walked out from under the shelter and onto the pavement, a truck drove by, hit the puddle, and splashed rainwater and mud all over her clothes. It was the final straw of what ended up being a nightmare of a day. If she had gone straight home after work, none of the last thirty to forty-five minutes would’ve happened. She could’ve lived the rest of her life never seeing that man from earlier. Now, he was present in her mind and short of quitting her nursing job and getting one at the grocery store, the chances of seeing him again were practically non-existent.
Soaked and dirty, Maisie made her way to her car, only to realize she forgot the soda. If she went home without it, Dorian would be upset. It was her time of the month, and the sisterhood required an all-hands-on-deck approach in moments like this. Maisie stored the groceries in the trunk of her car and made her way back into the store to pick up the pack of soda. Of course, it was just her luck, or lack thereof as the stop at the store proved, the line was long and there was still just one cashier.
“You’re back,” the clerk said as she scanned the twelve pack.
“Hadn’t even left the parking lot,” Maisie mused. “But I’m going home now, come hell or high water.”
The clerk looked outside and scoffed. “Looks like we’re flooding.”
Maisie followed her gaze and swore under her breath. Sure enough there was standing water in the parking lot, which meant Maisie needed to really pay attention to her driving skills. She sighed, paid for the soda, and walked back to her car. She didn’t care when she stepped into a puddle because why should she? At this point, her day couldn’t get any worse.
Or could it?
Nope, Maisie was determined to make the best of her night and her day off tomorrow. There was no point in dwelling on the crap she couldn’t prevent, like the truck hitting the puddle or the fact that she blew the chance of a lifetime with the most perfect man she had ever laid eyes on.
two
When Rhys Wainwright was a little boy, he used to spin in circles while sitting in his dad’s leather office chair, annoying his father’s stuffy secretary. She would scold Rhys by shaking her finger at him and when he refused to heed her words, she would turn an ugly shade of purple. Which, when you’re a spoiled youngster always looking for trouble, the sight always made you laugh.
As an adult, Rhys loved nothing more than spinning in his chair. Only now, no one told him he was a petulant child in need of discipline. He watched the people rush by his office window, hunched and huddled together for warmth. The winter wind was a bitch. Unfavored by most, only partially tolerated by the locals.
Tourists flocked to his town. It didn’t matter the time of year, everyone wanted to visit Coddington and for some odd reason, his clothing and accessory line had generated a massive following on social media resulting in his one and only store being busy from the moment his employees unlocked the door, right up until they turned the lights out after closing. Rhys never thought, in a million years, his penchant for photography, yellow Labradors, and John F. Kennedy would turn him into an overnight sensation with anyone looking to feel and dress nostalgically preppy.
Rhys groaned when a tour bus pulled up along the curb. “Sorry, Fenway, you’ll have to wait until these people scatter,” he said to his dog. Fenway laid, sprawled out, on the floor, with her tennis ball near her snout.
He turned back to his desk, pressed a button on his phone and waited for one of his salesclerks to pick up.
“Hi, Mr. Wainwright.”
It didn’t matter how many times he asked his employees to refer to him as Rhys, they always reverted to mister.
“A tour bus just pulled up. I wanted to give you fair warning in case anything needed to be stocked. Please let me know if you need any help.”
“Will do. Thank you for letting us know.”
Wainwright sat on the corner of the busiest street in Coddington and was by far the most decorated for whatever holiday season they were in. Right now, the interior of the store screamed love, in preparation for Valentine’s Day. Rhys was thankful he wasn’t left to decorate and that his very capable staff had a penchant for creating an inviting atmosphere. Every day they had fresh cookies or cupcakes for their customers. They always had candy out, and depending on the time of year, cider, coffee, and always water. It didn’t matter if you bought anything, if you needed a snack while shopping, you could help yourself.