Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
* * *
“So, what exactly does someone do at a Fall Festival?” I asked as we walked under the giant orange banner that had been strung across Main Street between lampposts. The road had been shut down just past their lone stoplight, and though there were a few booths lining the sidewalks, the majority of the foot traffic was headed toward the park where Main Street ended.
“You play games, buy cakes, vote on the best-carved pumpkins,” Zoe answered as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket.
It was more than six words, which made it the longest sentence she’d spoken to me in the last five days, beating out the previous record of what do you want for dinner?
In that time, I’d managed to write two shitty choruses and an equally abysmal verse to three different, yet all horrible, songs. Having Zoe pissed at me wasn’t doing much for my creative flow, but I couldn’t blame my block on her either.
That was entirely on me.
I longed for vodka—not a shot, the whole fucking bottle. Instead of acting on it, I scanned over the gathering. “Is it always this packed?” The entire population of Legacy had to be here.
“Usually. You didn’t have to come.”
“I wanted to.” I shrugged. Actually, I’d wanted to see her smile and hoped that getting her out around other people might accomplish that since she sure as hell wasn’t smiling at me. It pricked my pride a little to admit, but now that we were here, I wasn’t sure I wanted her smiling at anyone else, though, which put me in a predicament.
You have zero right to feel territorial.
Turned out, there was some truth behind the whole “you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone” thing, because I wanted the smiling, funny, softer Zoe back.
She heaped a dose of side-eye at me. “Right. Because this is your idea of fun. Spending a Friday night at a small-town festival, where the highlight of your evening will be spiced apple cider?”
I noticed the spark in her eyes and grinned. “I happen to like cider and small towns. This one is growing on me.” Literally, if I didn’t quit it with the pancakes. “It gives me insight into why you’re so…” Naïve. Good-hearted. Genuine.
She arched a brow in obvious challenge.
“You.” Good one.
She rolled her eyes as we crossed into the park. Booths lined various lantern-lit pathways that all led to a small amphitheater where a band was finishing up their set.
“You didn’t mention live music.” I tugged my skull cap down further over my ears to ward off the chill. It got cold here fast once the sun went down behind those mountains. A baseball cap would have been better to keep a little anonymity, but I wasn’t willing to lose my ears over it. Besides, I wasn’t exactly covering the tats that ran up the back of my neck, and those weren’t common around here from what I’d seen.
She looked toward the stage and froze.
“Shannon?”
Nothing. She didn’t even blink.
“Zoe.”
Her head whipped toward mine.
“Who’s the band?” I took my best guess at what was freaking her out.
“No one.” She shook her head and marched off toward a tent marked Cakes and Stakes.
“Zoe!” I caught up to her quickly and lightly gripped her elbow. “What the hell?” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had to chase a woman anywhere, let alone one who worked for me. Then again, I also couldn’t remember the last woman who’d been worth running after the way Zoe was.
“It’s my ex,” she muttered, so low I had to lean down and ask her to repeat the answer. “My ex.”
My brow knit as I glanced between the three scrawny figures on stage and Zoe. “Which one?” What kind of guy was her type? The drummer with the long hair? The bass guitarist with the goofy grin? The lead singer with the arrogant little smirk as he attempted—and failed—to tune his guitar?
“Does it matter?” she ground out between mashed teeth.
“The lead singer.”
“You suck.” She ripped her elbow out of my grasp and strode toward the tent.
“Really?” I took another look at the guy, then ran after Zoe. “That Joe Jonas-looking fucker is your ex? He can’t even tune his guitar. And since when are you into musicians?” That would have been nice to know at any point in our history.
“Shut up and pick a cake,” she snapped as we entered the massive tent and were met with rows upon rows of displayed cakes, with at least a couple dozen people snaking their way down the aisles.
“Zoe!” An older woman engulfed Zoe in a hug. “I heard you were back in town!”
“It’s just for…” Zoe trailed off because she had no idea how long we’d be here.
Knowing me, I’d probably be bored with the place in a week or two—hopefully long enough to spit out enough songs to keep Harvey off my ass.