Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
And when I spin in place, I spy several more ‘get the look’ rooms, including a rope hammock hanging from a beam, a wave lounge chair in black velvet that can fit two people, and a whole wall of posters with the faces of dead rock-and-roll gods lookin’ back at me.
On the far side of the room is a set of wooden stairs that lead up to the second- and third-floor lofts where I presume the details are kept. Throw pillows, and bedding, and accent pieces.
Stepping in here really does feel like stepping into the past and I love it. Everything about it says ‘Lowyn.’
A woman appears, dusting her hands off, directing my attention back to the task at hand. This is not Lowyn. I’m not exactly sure who she is—people change over time, after all. But she sure as hell knows me.
“Collin Creed. As I live and breathe.” I must not have my best poker face on because she points to herself. “Rosie Harlow! Come on now! Amon picked me out of a crowd yesterday morning at the coffee shop.”
I raise an eyebrow. “A crowd?”
“There were half a dozen people in there at the time!” I grin at her and she makes a little swoony motion with her body, pretending to faint. “That dimple, my God. I had forgotten how fuckin’ handsome you are, Collin Creed.”
“Nothing gets past you, Rosie.”
She snickers. “Lemme guess. You’re here for… a mix tape.”
“A mix tape?”
“We make those, ya know. You can order them online.”
“Really?”
“Really. You can pick out songs and everything.”
“How is that legal?”
“We don’t charge for them. It’s free when you buy a hundred bucks’ worth of shit. And we record them the old-fashioned way.” She points to the jukebox, which, I notice now that it has been pointed out, is positioned next to a table with a stereo system and a wooden crate filled with cassette tapes. “We play ’em and press record, just like the good old days. It was my idea.”
I point at her. “I had forgotten how brilliant and funny you are, Rosie Harlow. Thank you for reminding me.”
She blushes, then fans herself. “My God.” Then blows out a breath. “You’re lookin’ for Lowyn, right?”
“Is she around?”
“She’s not, actually. She’s gone for the whole week.”
“Shut up. She told you to say that, didn’t she?”
Rosie laughs. “No. She really is out of town. It’s a pickin’ week.”
“What the fuck is a pickin’ week?”
“That’s when Lowyn goes out of town to pick through people’s junk so she can buy it up and bring it back.” Rosie waves her hand at the store.
“Oh.” Well, now what do I do? Lowyn was my whole plan for the day.
“She’s not far, though.”
“No?”
“Not yet. She had an appointment down near… Oh, I don’t remember. Somewhere in Tennessee. You could show up and surprise her.”
“I don’t think she’d like that.”
“Are you kidding me? She would love that.” Then Rosie winks at me. “Hold on. I’ll go get her itinerary.” Then she whirls around and goes back the way she came.
Rosie comes back out with a piece of notebook paper. Like, the actual shit we used back in school. She notices me noticin’ it. “Isn’t Lowyn so damn cute? She uses notebook paper for everything. And look!” She holds the note up so I can see it. “Cursive!” Then she bursts out laughing.
I take the paper and stare at Lowyn’s handwriting, memories flooding back like crazy. God, I would know that handwriting anywhere. It’s not long and slanted, like a John Hancock, but upright and loopy, like a teenage girl’s. The fact that it is written in baby blue ink with pink accents makes me happy in a way I haven’t been in a very long time. I can see her clicking that two-color pen right now, her tongue gliding over her lip as she carefully writes her note.
I look up at Rosie and she looks unsure. “What?”
“You OK, Collin?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Good.” She’s more serious now, not smiling anymore. “Ya know, we’re all glad you’re back. It sucks the way it turned out, but they’re gone now, so…”
“What?” I’m confused.
“Nothin’.” She points to the letter. “Show up. Her number’s on the top, so you can call if you want. But by the time you get down there, she’ll probably be heading to that motel. She drives a black truck. Got a trailer hitched to the back. You should surprise her. She needs a good surprise. And you are the best surprise she could ever dream of, Collin Creed.”
I don’t know if that’s true, but I would like to think that it is. “Thank you. And… nice to see you again, Rosie. It’s been a pleasure.”
“Oh, stop now. You’re gonna make me faint.” And then she does faint. Dramatically. All the way down to the floor with the back of her hand pressed to her forehead.