Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
My eyes zero in on what I’ve been craving—watermelon, strawberries, oranges, and kiwis. Gosh, I’ve really been depriving myself if I’m going after every fruit in sight. “Hi, there, you must be Josie,” I hear as I’m completely in my own head while listening to the country music playing over the speakers, a soft melody about a girl who’s in love with the boy, the twang of her voice making it clear as day who’s singing. My own lips move to the song, knowing better than to so much as hum to the music, then come the lyrics, and the next thing you know, I’ll be belting out the song, singing high and off tune, scaring everyone in a ten-mile radius.
“Hi, I am. You’ll have to forgive me, as I don’t know your name.” I say, a lady around my mother’s age is smiling softly, hand out to shake mine. One hand is full, the other is empty, so I shift my half of flat of strawberries to the other and take her hand in mine.
“Oh, sorry, hon. Everyone knows all the comings and goings in Blue Valley. It’s not often we get a new neighbor, especially one who took on the Miller house. I’m Maureen.” I smile. When I closed on my house, the title agency told me this would happen, preparing me that I’d be referred to as the woman who bought the Miller house. I guess you could say I’m cluing in to the fact that my home will define me until I make it my own.
“It’s nice to meet you, Maureen.” I place my fruit in my buggy, unsure on how to navigate this conversation. As a natural introvert-extrovert, I feel a little out of place, given how tired I am and how much my bones ache, and my stomach chooses this exact moment to let out an unnatural noise in the form of a loud growl.
“I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’ll get your fair share of Blue Valley citizens coming and going. It was nice to meet you.” She hands me a business card before she disappears as fast she appeared. I look down at the card to find out what Maureen is selling. I’d laugh if it weren’t for the fact that I’d probably get more looks than what I’ve already garnered in the short amount of time I’ve been inside the store. Tupperware, that’s what she’s selling. Why I’m surprised, I have no idea. It seems I’ve stepped back in time, to an era much like Leave it to Beaver. With a smile on my face and a pep in my step, I hope I can bypass a few other locals, finish grocery shopping, feed myself before showering and promptly passing out until tomorrow morning.
I walk through the aisles, picking up everything I need and don’t need—the cookies, donuts, muffins, and ice cream. I’m a balance type of person when there aren’t looming deadlines, of course, so while I’m stocked up on what seems to be like every fresh item in the store, I round it out with some good old-fashioned junk food.
“Did you find everything you were looking for today?” the cashier asks. I’m off-loading the plethora of food, probably overkill for one person, but if this lasts a week, I’ll be happy to continue with my hermit lifestyle for the time being. Especially because ordering food is probably not as prominent in Blue Valley as it is in the city I used to live in. A major city, where one click of an app on your phone, and twenty minutes later, along with a hefty bill, it was at your door.
“I did, thank you.” The conveyor belt does its work. While she rings up each item, a younger guy bags my groceries.
“How are you liking Blue Valley so far?” At least she’s not reaffirming that I bought the Miller house.
“I’m enjoying it. Sad to say that I won’t be getting out much until next weekend to explore more because of work, but so far, it’s been really nice.” I don’t mention the Maureen situation. I’d probably get points dinged off being a good citizen if I did.
“Don’t worry. We’re not all like Maureen, the town busybody. My line was too long, or I’d have warned you. I’m Zara, by the way.”
“Josie. It’s nice to meet you.” We shake hands, she tells me the total, and I swipe my card while the bagger places everything back in my grocery cart.
“It was nice to meet you, too. I’m sure I’ll be in again soon. You wouldn’t happen to know where the best place for coffee is, do you?” I try my hand at small talk. Moving here means spreading my wings, no longer having friends from school or my mom to meet me on the rare outing.