Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
He was the best thing that ever happened to me, and now I’ve gone and swan-dived behind a fucking counter. Assuming he decides I’m worth talking to, he’ll never let me live it down.
Trying to shake off my humiliation, I finish cleaning up my mess before bringing myself back to my feet, only as I stand and lift my chin, I find a petite woman standing right in front of me, her gaze locked on the menu board above my head. “I’ll have a—”
“Oh, no. I’m not—”
“Large pumpkin spice latte. Go heavy on the cinnamon and hold the cream,” she continues, not bothering to take a moment to realize I’ve even said a word. “Actually. Make it extra large and add a blueberry muffin.”
“I—”
My gaze shifts to the barista, waiting for him to step in and save my ass once again, but finding him swamped as he gets back to filling orders, I let out a heavy sigh and drop my gaze to the tablet before me.
Damn it. Why do I have to have a guilty conscience?
Looks like I’ll be working the morning rush, just like I used to all those years ago. After entering her order and hoping like fuck I haven’t screwed it up, I glance up at the girl and plaster on my best customer service grin. “And how will you be paying today?”
Two hours later, I crash through the door of Nana’s home and collapse onto the old couch, suddenly remembering why I never liked working there. People are mean, but when they haven’t got their coffee or think that their coffee is being made far too slowly, they’re monsters.
I close my eyes for just a minute before remembering the groceries in the back of Pop’s truck, and as I peel myself off the couch, I remember the milk, my whole reason for heading out this morning. I can guarantee it’s spoiled having been out of the fridge for so long. But then, it’s not like it’s a hot day. It was bloody freezing inside Pop’s truck while I was busy in the coffee shop. Perhaps it’s fine.
After fetching the groceries and shoving the possibly spoiled milk into the fridge, I grab my laptop and drop down at the kitchen counter. If I’m going to fix up this house and sell it, I need to get my shit together, and hell, what better way to distract myself from the brooding, sexy man-meat who just happens to live in town?
God, he looked so good. If only I could see him up close for a second . . . but without him knowing, of course. I don’t think I could handle the embarrassment of him bringing up the whole swan dive thing, and I know he will. He simply won’t be able to resist. But then, maybe he could. People change a lot in the span of six years. I’m certainly not the same woman I was when I left, so who am I to make assumptions about the things that he can or cannot resist anymore?
The thought has a pang of sadness pulsing through my chest and I do my best to put it aside as I pull out my phone and bring up the photo of the real estate office’s storefront I took this morning. Finding the agent’s contact number, I enter it into my contacts before hitting call.
I shove the phone against my ear, but as it rings, a wave of nervousness crashes through me and I put the phone down, putting the call on speakerphone as though that could somehow help. I stand, pacing back and forth through the kitchen as the phone remains on the table.
“Blushing Real Estate,” a woman’s voice chirps a moment later. “This is Estelle.”
I scramble for the phone, scooping it into my hands and staring at it as though it could bite me. “Umm . . . hi. This is Blair Wilder. I stopped by your office earlier but you must have been busy,” I say, unsure why I felt the need to tell her that. “I uhhh . . . wanted to talk to you about selling my nana’s property down on—”
“Blair Wilder? As in Olivia Wilder’s granddaughter?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Ahhh, I know her place well,” she chimes. “I was wondering what you would decide to do with the property. I’m so sorry for your loss. Olivia was a very welcomed member of our community. Such a shame she’s gone.”
I press my lips into a hard line, not really knowing how to open my mouth without turning into a blubbering mess. “She was,” is all I manage to get out before swallowing over the lump in my throat and trying to get back on track. “So, the plan is to sell, though it does need a little work. It’s very dated compared to what’s available on the current market so I was hoping to get your advice on what you think would be best. I mean, I don’t exactly have the funds to gut the property and start fresh, but I’m pretty good with a paintbrush.”