Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
Fortunately, I managed to snag a table—waving at a couple I recognized who frequented The Outdoor Experience—and picked my seat facing the door. Sure enough, five minutes after sitting down and ten minutes before we were supposed to meet, I spotted her by the door—thin, tan, and slimmer than ever. Then I noticed the way she was clinging to her thirty-five-thousand-dollar purse like if it brushed against something in the diner, she’d get cooties.
I knew for a fact she’d worked at a Waffle House back in the day.
God, help me with this family.
The best thing I ever did was get kicked out of it. And that knowledge made me straighten my spine. I was happy. Healthy. I had my whole future ahead of me. I had friends and loved ones. Maybe I still had no clue what I was going to be doing a year from now, much less five or ten, but I was happy. Happier and more secure than I’d been in a long, long time.
And that was why I was smiling as I stood up and caught Mrs. Jones’s attention. She frowned, upset at being got, and made her way over as I sat back down. Just as she took the seat across from me, I held my hand out to her.
Did I want to be the bigger person? No. Would it irritate her if I was? Yes. And that’s why I did it.
She looked at it with surprise. She sniffed as she shook it, her hand cool and almost clammy. Either somebody was nervous or irritated. I hoped both.
“Hello, Aurora,” she said.
“Hi, Mrs. Jones.” I felt some more of that lingering bitterness slip away. I opened my menu, regretting leaving my overnight oatmeal in the fridge at Rhodes’s so I’d have time to get ready.
I had thought about not putting makeup on or doing my hair but decided against it. I wanted her to see with her own eyes that I was kicking ass and taking names. Kind of.
You know what? I was kicking ass. I was fine. Better than ever, and that was the absolute truth. My hair was healthy since it was totally grown out after a decade of frying it to get it the pale blonde it had been. I was tan from all the time I still managed to spend outside, and I was better mentally and physically than I had been in forever.
And I felt like I wore my sense of peace over me like a cloak.
Life didn’t have to be perfect for you to be happy. Because what was perfect really, anyway?
“How are you?” I asked her, my attention still on the menu.
Ooh, French toast. I hadn’t had that in… months, not since before I’d gotten here.
“Well, I’d be doing better if I was home, Aurora,” the older woman bitched.
I let it go in one ear and out the other. Maybe I’d just have coffee, actually, and go back to Rhodes’s and eat breakfast with them. This honestly wouldn’t last too long by the way it was looking. And I only had enough cash to pay for a coffee and leave a tip, so that I wouldn’t have to be awkward and wait around for a waitress to take my debit card if I decided to bounce quickly.
Actually, that sounded like a plan. Breakfast with people who made me happy or with a demon? Like that was even a choice.
With that settled, I closed my menu and focused back on the woman who hadn’t even opened hers, confirming maybe this wasn’t going to be a long conversation. Perfect. Well, that and Mrs. Jones wouldn’t lower herself to eating at a diner. My God. No eggs benedict? A mango power smoothie? God forbid. That shit was delicious, but the way she demanded things made them obnoxious.
With a deep breath, I leaned back and watched her sitting there, her beautiful green purse sitting on her lap, manicured fingers resting on the strap.
“You look well,” I told her honestly.
“You look… tan” was the nicest thing she managed to get out of her mouth.
I laughed and shrugged. Like that was an insult.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, pinching her lips together.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I set them on top of the table, tapping the plastic-covered menu with my fingernails. “I live here,” I told her, hopefully with a “duh” tone in my voice.
Her nostrils flared a little. “It took us a long time to find you. We had to hire a few private investigators.”
I lifted a shoulder. “I wasn’t hiding, and it wasn’t like Kaden didn’t know I grew up here.” He’d just forgotten or never processed it enough in the first place.
What a fucker, now that I thought about it.
Mrs. Jones’s nostrils flared again, and I could tell it was taking everything in her not to make a smart-ass comment. “You know how busy he is; he always has so many things going on in his head.”