Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 20595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
CHERYL
TWO DAYS LATER
Something is seriously wrong with me. Like I went to sleep two days ago and woke up in another body that doesn’t belong to me. That is the only explanation for these vividly, explicit dreams about Nolan I keep having. It probably didn’t help that the characters in my story kissed for the first time. I think my mind is trying to process my new genre of stories. That is the only thing that makes sense.
Ever since lunch with him, I have noticed things I never noticed before. For example, when he looks at me, I swear he is like a hungry predator. Or that is how I see him now. His eyes seem hyper-focused, and he is always scanning, looking around, checking for what I don’t know, but in a weird way, it makes me feel safe. I know it sounds crazy, but it is the only way I can explain it.
Also, I never noticed before, but whenever I go somewhere, he either shows up there, coincidentally, or I swear I see him down the street not too far from where I am. Now that part might actually be a coincidence. I mean, neither my town nor Cupid’s Cove is that big. So really, you run into everyone all the time.
But now I am waking up sweating and in shock by my own dreams. You know what, it could also be this darned book club me and the girls have started. Sassy had the bright idea for us to each pick a book a month, and we all read it and discuss it. I thought we were going to pick Jane Austen and Stephen King, but we decided to let Sassy pick for the first month. Do you know what she chose? A book called More Than Enough by this indie author named ChaShiree M. It looked innocent enough, but holy Hershey kisses, the mouth on the man in that story, it's no wonder my body is going berserk.
On the bright side, today is the first day of the festival, and I am so excited. Nolan aside, because it is so obvious I am the only one making this into something, I am feeling positive there is someone out there who has to like me, right? I refuse to believe I need to move away to find the love of my life. I mean, how would that be fair? I should be able to find him here, at home, where he also lives, by the way, so we can stay in this blissful bubble of our small-town life.
Throwing back my sheets, I get up and grab my stuff for a shower. The streams of the shower and the steady drum of the water hitting the curtain sort of form a trancelike state. One where everything for the last week plays over and over in my mind.
My mom is convinced, as she so eloquently said to me last night, that Nolan has a thing for me. She told me I wouldn't know if a man was flirting with me if he struck me with an arrow. Her exact words were, “Honey, before you start writing romance you should learn what it looks like and it ain’t what you think.” I have no clue what she means by that.
I think it looks like flowers, handholding, walks, long phone conversations, giggles about silly things, sharing ice cream and candy, and sweet kisses. Right? Then there is Rose. My own personal bad influence. I have her in my ear telling me love is messy and unexpected and more primal than my innocent little ears are ready for. Well, if my dreams are any indication from reading that book, she is right about that. But am I really missing the signals about Nolan?
Dried off and dressed in a sweater dress and a hat, I am grabbing my coat when my mom calls. “Good morning, mama.”
“Don’t good morning me, missy. Where are you? You are supposed to be helping me set up.”
“I know. I am walking out the door as we speak,” I tell her, grabbing my keys and purse.
“Are you alright sweet girl? You are never late, and you haven’t been yourself. Are you sick?”
“No, mama. I am not sick.”
“Oh, is it your sugar time?” Oh geez. I roll my eyes at the term she taught me for when my period starts. She explained, when I got it the first time at sixteen, that this is the time when women get to indulge in all things sweet without apologizing.
“No! Now stop this. I will be there in a few minutes. Love you mama.” I reach for the handle, but the doorbell rings. Opening it, I see Rich from the electronic store standing at my door with a wrapped box with a bow on it. “Rich?” He smiles at me.