Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
There was absolutely no family resemblance between us.
And why would there be, when we were just cousins?
Vega was tall and thin with shoulder-length coppery-red hair around an angular, but gorgeous face, all big green eyes and full lips. When she was dressed for work, she went a little heavier on the eye makeup and sported a red lip. At home, though, unwinding with her video games, she was fresh-faced and softer-looking, even if her tone was anything but.
When she was made up for work, she was always fully covered, too, keeping her tattoos concealed. At home, despite the frigid weather outside, she was sitting around in a pair of men’s red and white boxers and a black bralette, putting her chest, arm, and underbust tattoos on display.
“How was work?” she asked, unfolding her long legs and trying to shake some blood back into them. “I’ll help you with all that in one second,” she said, waving toward the canvas bags I was carrying.
She knew better than to offer to help with the flowers.
That was my specialty, after all.
I’d noticed the ones on the kitchen island were looking a little sad, so I’d spent the day collecting flowers that ended up on the floor, or ones that were less than perfect, and saving them to make my own bouquet for home.
Vega, well, she had four dead houseplants in her room.
She wasn’t touching my flowers.
“It was good. Kind of busy. Ahead of the storm, I guess,” I told her as I went into the kitchen, popping the bags up on the counter.
I liked our apartment.
I’d worked really, really hard on it over the years since Vega invited me to move in, shocking me when I’d arrived to find she had nothing in it but a gaming chair, a TV, and a bed in her room. Despite having lived there for almost two years at that point.
I wasn’t exactly raking in money as a florist, so I’d been good at finding roadside rubbish that could be restored, or finding some truly lovely and timeless pieces at antique shops.
I’d even painted the kitchen cabinets (horrible, faux wood ones that had a fake yellowish wood grain in it to a simple, crisp white) and replaced the countertops (the pink-toned fake Corian for genuine white Corian that had a slight golden-brown pattern in it). But I’d only been able to do it after Vega threatened the ever-loving hell out of the landlord, saying she worked for a lawyer who would sue him for all the safety violations around the building if I wasn’t allowed to do some updates around the apartment.
I was not a confrontational person, so having someone like Vega around was a godsend to me. Someone to stand up for me when I couldn’t or wouldn’t stand up for myself.
I mean, she told strangers on the internet to “eat her dick,” so, yeah, she was willing to make all sorts of veiled—or outright—threats in person as well.
“Did it start yet?” she asked, glancing over to the window, but the sheers made it hard to see outside.
“No. Is your office closing tomorrow?”
“Well, you know Hank. Always willing to close the place for any reason whatsoever.”
Hank was one of two lawyers in Balm Port. Why she chose to work for the old, lazy one who hardly ever actually took any cases to court was beyond me. But she was fond of the man and claimed she’d somehow learned a lot from him.
“I’m guessing you’re not as lucky,” Vega said, reaching into the bags to start putting away the food.
I’d gotten a little extra groceries than usual, knowing that if the roads were bad, I wouldn’t want to risk another trip to the store to get more.
In general, I didn’t like having a ton of food around, preferring to go to the shops every couple of days. But sometimes you had to make concessions when Mother Nature was putting on a show.
“No. You know Dennis,” I said, shrugging.
I didn’t mind going to work.
I knew I was probably a weirdo for it, but I actually felt like the world fell off of my shoulders when I walked in that door in the morning. It was like all my troubles fell away when I walked in to see all the happy, bright flowers all around.
Then, for the next eight to ten hours, I got to be a part of making everyone’s days… better.
Even if the occasion itself was something sad—a mistake needing mending, the passing of a loved one, or flowers for the ailing—my place was to try to make things better. In any small way.
I liked that.
It gave me a sense of purpose.
It wasn’t until I locked up for the day that old stressors started to nag at me.
“I could have a talk with him,” Vega offered. “A little reminder about how he would be responsible if you were seriously injured leaving or coming to work when the state has declared an emergency…”