Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Tuesday afternoon while I was at work, Moretti left me a voicemail. “Hey, I found some listings you might be interested in. I’ll email you the links. If there are any you want to see, maybe we can get appointments this weekend, although with the holiday, I’m not sure. Anyway, let me know your work schedule. I can never remember what days you’re on or off.”
My work schedule was a little confusing since it varied every week—a rotating series of two or three days on, followed by two or three days off—but I liked it. Shifts were long, but I never worked more than three days in a row, and every other week I got three consecutive days off. I could volunteer at Mariah’s school, get household projects done, run errands . . . and if the days fell over a weekend, sometimes Mariah and I went to visit Trisha’s parents, who lived in Indiana now.
After dinner that evening, I opened my laptop at the kitchen table and looked at the listings Moretti had sent. There were ten of them, but a few I was able to dismiss right off the bat—too expensive, too far from my mom’s, too small. But three or four of them had potential, and I invited Mariah to come sit next to me and look at the photos. Thankfully, my mother was at the usual Tuesday night meeting of the Ladies Benevolent Sewing Circle, where the grandmotherly ladies of Bellamy Creek pieced together quilts for families in need while discussing all the latest rumors. They spread as much gossip as benevolence, if you asked me. I’d show her the listings too, of course, but I wasn’t really interested in her opinions just yet.
Mariah seemed excited to see the houses in person—there was one with a little doghouse in the yard, and she hoped the house came with a puppy—so I gave Moretti a call back right away.
“Hey,” he said when he picked up. “Have a chance to look at those listings yet?”
“We did.”
“See anything you like?”
“Definitely. I’m off Thursday and Friday this week, but I’m assuming since Thursday is Thanksgiving, that day is out. Would it be possible to get appointments on Friday?”
“Maybe. Reply with the addresses you want to see and I’ll make a couple calls tomorrow.”
“You sure? I don’t want this to take up your workday or anything.”
“I’m sure. I’m not that busy this week.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks a lot. I owe you.”
I’d just hit send on the email with the addresses to Moretti when I heard a knock at the back door. Mariah jumped up from the table to go answer it. “It’s Miss Cheyenne,” she said excitedly, pulling the door open. “Hi, Miss Cheyenne. Come on in.”
My pulse kicked up, and I quickly ran a hand through my hair before turning around in my chair.
“Hi, Mariah.” Cheyenne smiled as she stepped into the kitchen and shut the door behind her. “Brrr, it’s just getting colder and colder, isn’t it? Think we’ll have snow for Thanksgiving this year?”
“I hope so,” Mariah said.
“Me too. Snowy days just make me want to curl up in a window seat with a mug of tea and a good book.” Cheyenne laughed. “Not that I have a window seat.” Then she noticed me sitting at the table, and her smile changed. “Oh. Hey, Cole.”
“Hey,” I said, rising to my feet and trying hard not to think about how I’d fantasized about her Saturday night. Had I really thought that would get her out of my system? I wanted her even more now. “What’s going on?”
“I’m hoping you can help me. I had this last-minute idea for a Thanksgiving project for my kindergartners, and I need to make an example to show them, but I don’t have any construction paper. I was hoping maybe you had some, Mariah?”
“I think so.” Mariah hurried over to what my mother referred to as the craft cupboard. “Do you need fall colors?”
“Sure, if you’ve got them. This is what I want to make.” She tapped her phone screen and held it up. “And I already cut the turkey bodies out from cardboard delivery boxes before realizing I didn’t have anything to make the feathers with. I could probably go in early tomorrow morning and get the example done, but I’ll already have to go in early and cut out five feathers for each kid—which will be a hundred and thirty feathers.”
I moved closer, checking out the picture on her phone of cardboard turkeys with multicolored feathers that had words written on them like MOM, DAD, MY HAMSTER, SCHOOL, and COOKIES. “Cute. Are those things kids are thankful for?”
Cheyenne laughed. “Yes. I’ll have their fifth grade reading buddies help them with the writing. We’re hosting the buddies for a project, story, and snack right after the Thanksgiving Sing assembly.”