Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “Do you want some wine?” Looking around the room, I wonder if there is a minibar in the hotel room. I spot the fridge in the corner underneath the television stand, and when I open it, the horrible smell makes me gag. “Well, that would be a no,” I say, holding my hand up to my nose to smell my shirt.
“The universe hates me.” Olivia gets up from the bed. “I’m going to take a bath.” She starts walking to the bathroom. “Or maybe not. I have no idea.”
“You go wash,” I say, “and I’m going to get the lay of the land.”
“Your Southern accent is coming out.” Olivia chuckles. “It took you two years to stop saying y’all.”
Shaking my head, I grab the key card I had thrown on the desk and walk out into the hallway. Taking the elevator down to the lobby, I ask the receptionist who checked us in if there is someplace close to buy wine.
“Not at this time of night,” she says. I glance down at my phone and see it’s nine p.m. We are definitely not in New York City anymore.
“Is there anywhere we can get something to eat?” I ask, looking around for any menus that might be lingering around.
“No, the Piggly Wiggly closes at eight during the week.” She smiles at me, and I shake my head.
“I assume you have vending machines somewhere?” I ask, looking around, and her eyes go big.
“Yes.” She walks around the desk to a room in the corner. “Here are the machines.” She points at two vending machines. One is filled with chips and chocolates, and the other has soft drinks.
“I think I’m going to need change,” I say, seeing that everything is seventy-five cents.
“No worries. If you want, I can open the machine for you and just hand you what you want.” She smiles at me, walking out of the room to get the key to open the machine.
By the time I get back into the room, the shower is still running. I dump the ten packs of chips, chocolate bars, Oreo cookies, Cheez-It snacks, some peanuts, and a honey bun on the side table in the middle of the two beds. The water shuts off as soon as I kick off my shoes, and my phone rings. I pick it up and see it’s Casey.
“Hey.” I answer the phone softly.
“Hey, yourself,” he says, and I hear the covers rustle in the background. “Where are you?”
“No clue,” I say, sitting on the bed and falling back. “Someplace that has a Piggly Wiggly.” He laughs.
“That could be anywhere from Alabama to Florida.”
“I think we have another twelve hours to go,” I say. “Why was it a good idea to drive?”
“Because your flight can be traced here, and if your friend wants to stay under the radar, the best thing to do is drive,” he says, and I shake my head. “Either way, I’m happy you’re finally coming home.”
“Don’t start with me, Casey,” I say. “I get enough of a guilt trip from Mom when I don’t come home for the holidays.”
“Yeah, well, she’s already cleaning out your old room and cooking all your favorite dishes.” He laughs. “Expect lots of home-cooked meals,” he whispers, “with butter.”
“God,” I groan. “I just got under one hundred and ten pounds. Do you know how many hot yoga sessions I had to do and salads I had to eat? Kale is not tasty.”
“It is if it’s deep fried and then drenched in butter,” he says. “Anyway, I’m off to bed. Five a.m. comes quickly.”
“I’ll be home tomorrow. I am going to push through,” I say. The bathroom door opens, and Olivia comes out in a cloud of steam. “See you then,” I say and disconnect.
Olivia has her hair wrapped up in a white towel and another towel wrapped around her chest, and she’s carrying her clothes in a ball in her hand. “That shower felt great.” She dumps her clothes on the bed and comes over to the food that I bought. “What do we have here?”
“The second-best thing I could get,” I say, getting up to a sitting position. “The Piggly Wiggly is closed.”
“I don’t know if I should be happy about that or sad,” she says, grabbing the trail mix and opening it. “Maybe sad.” She turns and walks back to the bathroom to spit it out. “That trail mix is at least a year old.”
“I have no doubt the chips are fresh,” I say. Getting up, I walk over to the bathroom and turn on the water. “I want to be gone by three if that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Olivia says, sitting on the bed with four bags of chips and two Snickers. “Why did we stop eating chips?” she asks after shoving five into her mouth.