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)
Would it be so bad to give in to temptation again?
Scarlet arches an eyebrow. “Looney Tunes? Really?”
“See?” I wave a fry at her. “This is why we’re best friends.”
“But that’s why I bought the extended warranty.” Helen Oates waves the pamphlet in the air as if to prove she has it. “The dishwasher is only two years old, and it keeps flooding.”
“Because you’ve been putting regular dish soap in it,” I say slowly. “You admitted to it.”
“It’s cheaper! And soap is soap. It shouldn’t matter.”
“Except it does.” Did she not notice the excessive suds?
Helen’s lips purse, her fingers clutching the handles of her chunky purse. “Ned said the warranty would cover me for five years, so I would like a new dishwasher. Thank you.” Those last two words come out snippy, as if to say, “We’re done here. Do as I ask, minion.”
My patience is running thin, and I’m not getting anywhere with this woman. “Have you called the manufacturer?”
“Yes, and they were even less helpful than you.” She lifts her pointy chin. “I’d like to speak to someone who understands these things. Where’s Ned?”
I glue on the widest smile I can. “I’ll get him for you.”
I find Ned in his office, savoring the last of his traditional peanut butter sandwich. “Helen Oates is insisting to speak to you about a warranty on the dishwasher that’s not working properly because she is using dish soap. She’s not getting the answer she wants from me.”
“Mrs. Oates …” He nods to himself. “That one takes ‘the customer is always right’ to a new level. Trudy hated dealing with her.”
“Trudy and I have some things in common.”
He tosses the crusts into the garbage can.
“I’m sorry. I tried. I don’t know how you’re gonna make her happy.”
He rises slowly from his chair. “Don’t you worry. I’ve been selling appliances for sixty years now. I’ve seen and dealt with it all.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll just hang out here for a bit, so I don’t club her over the head with her own purse.”
“Now that, I haven’t seen yet.” His soft chuckles trail behind him as he shuffles out.
I linger in the office, using the time to boil the kettle for herbal tea and tidy up loose papers, my mind wandering to the engagement party, as it has repeatedly. There’s been no sign of Garrett’s SUV in the parking lot next door. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t been back to Polson Falls since the meeting with the mayor, and that was more than a week ago.
Have thoughts of me crossed his mind?
Does he regret what happened between us?
Because I’d be lying if I said I did.
On impulse, I rifle through the receipts in the filing cabinet until I spot his name in Ned’s scrawl. His number is below. Without thinking too much about it, I punch it into my phone’s Contacts. “Never know when you may come in handy.”
The door chimes with a new customer—or one less, though something tells me Mrs. Oates will pin Ned down until closing if it means she gets what she wants.
I collect my steaming mug and saunter out to the showroom floor.
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
My heart skips a beat at the sight of Garrett. He’s in refrigerator alley again, inspecting the inside of a mid-range model. He has no coat on today, which makes me think he walked over from next door. His gray dress pants and fern-green crewneck sweater hug his body in all the right places, highlighting those broad shoulders and sculpted torso I admired beneath my fingertips.
I creep up behind him, ignoring the itch to touch him again. “When I hexed the fridge I sold you, I didn’t think it would work so fast.”
He spins around, his eyes bright and full of humor. “Justine. Good to see you.”
“I know.” I take a long sip of my tea.
He watches me intently before reaching up to check the tag dangling down, his fingertip skimming mine. “Licorice root. You like that flavor, huh?”
“I was that kid who fished out every black jelly bean, even though no one else would eat them.”
He hums, as if my answer says something about me he’d guessed. “You didn’t stick around.”
I assume he’s referring to the engagement party. “I’d say I made my presence known.”
“That, you did.” He grins. “How was the rest of your night?”
“Uneventful. No closets. You?”
“I didn’t stay long. The night got boring very fast.”
Interesting. Would he have stayed had I? But I shouldn’t be asking questions like these. It’ll cause confusion. “So … what brings you to refrigerator alley again?”
“Well, first, this.” He holds out a small brown paper bag.
With a curious frown, I collect it and peer inside. “Todd’s soup.” A inhale confirms it. I would know that blend of secret spices anywhere. I can’t keep the soft moan from escaping, earning Garrett’s smile.