Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Scarlet holds up her hands. “I’m just looking out for you.”
“I know. That’s why I keep you around.” I lunge forward and snatch a handful of raisins from her bowl before she can react.
Chapter Four
“How could this happen to me?” I squeal, using the reflection in the washer door to inspect the inflamed pimple on the tip of my nose. I felt it coming, but I never could imagine it would turn into this. Not even concealer could hide it this morning, it’s so ripe.
“What are you going on about now?” Ned looks up from his crossword puzzle. That and the weekly obituaries in the local paper are the two sections he never misses.
I stalk over to him and gesture at the angry red pustule.
He adjusts his reading glasses to get a better look. “Oh, that’s a doozy. Must be all those sweets you’ve been gorging on this week.”
“See?” I throw my hands up in the air. “I knew this was somehow Bastard Bill’s fault.”
Ned grunts. He’s heard all about my cheating ex and is not a fan. “I remember when Raymond got those. Some real nasty ones too.”
“When he was a pubescent boy, right? Not a thirty-year-old woman, waiting for her future husband to arrive.” Which is any minute now, based on Garrett’s phone call to ask if he should come to the back of the store for pickup.
“Men don’t notice pimples.”
“It’s changed the shape of my nose!” I can see it through my peripheral vision. “How am I supposed to flirt with this guy when he’s staring at it?” Or worse, averting his gaze to be polite? Which kind of man will he be? A gawker or an avoider? Both are equally bad. The more I imagine this exchange, the more my panic grows. “I can’t be here for this.”
“Why don’t you go for a walk, then?” He pats the air, trying to calm me. “I’ll take care of this order and message you when he’s gone.”
“Yeah, good idea, wingman.” The first thing I did when I started here was teach Ned how to text. I’m so glad for it now. “I’ll head to the drugstore to get poison for it, and then I’ll hide next door. Just”—I grab a pen and scribble my phone number down—“tell him I died, but he can call me later if he wants.”
Ned watches me jam my feet into my boots and grab my coat. “For someone with so much confidence, you sure are fussing over such a tiny little thing.”
“It’s practically a boil!” I charge for the front door.
“Careful out there. It’s slippery.”
“Good. If I fall flat on my face, maybe it’ll burst.”
Todd’s soup had better be good today.
I inhale as I push through the butcher shop door. Dieter’s smells delicious as always—a medley of garlicky homemade sausages, fresh bread delivered by truck each morning, and a flavorful chowder simmering in Todd’s vintage red Crock-Pot. It’s become a daily comfort, and it stirs pangs of hunger.
I open my mouth to announce my presence by demanding to know what the flavor of the day is when a familiar voice stalls my tongue.
“… parked around back, but I could use your help hauling that fridge in. I think the two of us could manage.”
My heart skips a beat at the sound of Garrett’s deep and raspy timbre.
But wait—he knows Todd?
“I’ve moved an appliance or two up those stairs over the years. Yeah, no problem, just let me finish writing this order, and then get Dillon to cover the front.” The sound of pages flipping carries through the otherwise quiet shop.
What are they talking about? Move the fridge where? Upstairs? As in, to one of the apartments?
“You didn’t mention anything to them about our arrangement while you were there, right?” Todd asks, a touch quieter.
“No way. The fewer people who know, the better.”
“Good.” Todd sighs heavily. “I’m telling you, my dad has to be rolling in his grave. Grandpa Dieter too.”
“They’ll settle down when they see the shiny new butcher shop you’re running on the other side of town.”
I frown. Wait, what? I shift closer toward the deli counter, using the shelves of sauces and spices for cover as I eavesdrop, thankful for my short stature and the depth of the store—they didn’t seem to notice anyone enter.
“How much longer before it hits public record?” Todd asks.
“They’re stalling the paperwork as long as they can. Another month, at least. Just long enough for me to get all the permit approvals in place.” There’s a long pause and then Garrett offers, “Don’t worry about it, man. It was a smart move, and you have every right to do what you want with your property.”
“Yeah, but there are some Polson Falls folks who are gonna be bent out of shape over losing this building.”
“There’ll be some noise, sure. There always is, but it’ll blow over once they see what I’m replacing it with.”