Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I venture along the road and feel the fresh air on my face. It helps to wake me up out of the fog from last night.
Sleep never comes easy for me. Last night, though, it was pointless to even try.
I take out my phone and check to see if River texted me back.
As if I didn’t have enough to worry about last night, River was more upset than I’d ever heard him, and I fucking hate I can’t be there to help him. Not that I can cure cancer and fix his mom. But I know it helps him to see our faces in the morning, and he’s up in Vermont without Crew or me.
The screen is blank. No missed calls or texts from River or anyone else.
I shove my phone back in my pocket and continue down the sidewalk.
My brain skips over all the things that have taken up space over the past twenty-four hours.
Like kissing Larissa.
Fuck, that girl is more than I bargained for.
She just worms her way inside my head and makes me do and say shit I don’t do or say. I don’t kiss—not like that. Not like I want it.
And I don’t talk about my mom. Ever.
“What the fuck came over me?” I grumble.
A mix of emotions has flooded my psyche since I opened my damn mouth to Larissa. Frustration at opening that Pandora’s box, irritation with myself for admitting that shit out loud, and a sadness that hit around three in the morning that only further pissed me off.
A part of me wants to say to hell with sticking around and just head back to campus now. It’s the simple answer, and it’s probably the right one, too. Anyone that has ever known anything about my life’s history has done one of two things—pitied me or judged me. It just depends on how much they know.
And now Larissa knows the start of it.
If I thought she was nosy before, what’s she going to do now?
What would she do if she knew the truth?
Why did I open my mouth?
I clamp a hand against the back of my neck and try to squeeze the stress out.
A little building with a bubblegum-pink door is ahead of me. A woman exits the shop, and a spicy, cinnamon-y aroma fills the sidewalk in front of a sign, also in pink, spelling Judy’s. It redirects my attention from my fuckup with Larissa to my growling stomach.
A bell jingles as I open the door.
“Good morning,” a woman says happily from behind a stack of boxes. “Welcome to Judy’s.”
I give her a nod and look at the various knickknacks and displays.
Clothes hang on hooks, and bags in bright floral prints are showcased on stands. Shelves are stocked with little jars, books, and pottery.
“Can I help you find anything?” The old woman comes out from around the boxes. She has silver hair puffed up on top of her head, and she’s as wide as she is tall. “We have something for everyone in here.”
“Nah. I’m not looking for anything, really. Just killing time.”
I pick up a small jar of sunflower honey—something I didn’t even know existed. It has a little yellow ribbon around it that starts to slip off as I handle it. I secure the ribbon and set the jar back down.
The woman takes off her glasses. “What are you killing time for?”
I’m taken aback a little bit by her forwardness, but her sweet little grandma vibe disarms me.
“I have a date,” I tell her. Even though it’s only partially true, it’s the easiest answer.
“I bet you do. You’re a cutie pie.”
Laughing, I turn to face her. “Well, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You remind me of one of my grandsons. I have seven—and three granddaughters. But,” she says, whispering conspiratorially, “if I was your age, your girlfriend better watch out because whoo-wee.”
She winks as she walks in front of me and heads toward the back of the store.
“You’ve left me speechless,” I tell her with a laugh.
“Story of my life. I’ve been leaving men speechless for seventy-five years.” She motions for me to join her by a large glass case. “Are you hungry?”
I walk toward her and look around. The back of the building is a sandwich shop decorated in flamingos, of all things. It’s pink and white with a bright pink neon sign spelling out her name like you’d see in a bar.
It’s so random and so … eclectic. It seems to fit her.
“See anything in there that looks good?” she asks, rapping on top of the glass with her knuckle.
I peer inside the display. Cookies, cakes, and the reddest cherry pie I’ve ever seen sit behind the glass. Perfectly squared brownies are arranged on a plate. Cupcakes with tie-dye swirled icing are piled on a stand.
It looks like heaven.
“Everything looks delicious,” I tell her. “Did you make all of this?”