Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
She’s right. It’s a lot. I hadn’t realized how much Sawyer was buying since it was trickling in day by day, package by package. “Root through it and let me know if there are still things you’re missing.”
“Are you kidding? This is more than enough! Thank you!”
Once I make it back to the car, Queenie’s waiting for me with a smile. “Now didn’t that feel good? Bet it lifted your spirits to help someone like that.”
“Eh, not really.”
She snorts at my depressed reply and throws the car into reverse. “Well you just need to get outta your funk. You know what you need? Fried okra. A whole plate of it with a side of ranch. How ’bout it?”
I sigh, tired of doing this song and dance with her. “Sure. Sounds good.”
It’s just easier to give in than to keep fighting her, and to be honest, fried okra does sound pretty good right now.
We head toward a barbecue joint named PJ’s, another institution in our small town. I grew up on their jalapeño cornbread and potato salad, but it’s the brisket they’re really known for. The moment I tug open the heavy wooden door, I’m greeted by the delicious scent of smoked meat. Maybe Queenie was right. Maybe I do just need a good meal.
I’m looking over the menu posted behind the counter, trying to decide if I want pork ribs or brisket, when Queenie jabs me with her elbow.
“Are my eyes deceiving me or is that Sawyer Garnett sitting over there in that booth with flowers!? Handsome as ever if you ask me.”
At the mention of his name, my heart plummets in my chest. I follow Queenie’s gaze, and sure enough, there’s Sawyer, sitting in a booth facing me, clutching a bouquet of yellow daisies on top of the table. He’s wearing a navy t-shirt and jeans. His expression is reserved, his eyes earnest and pleading. I can only look for a second before it makes my chest ache.
“You did this,” I accuse, and right away, she confirms my suspicion with her dramatically bad acting skills.
She steps back and flattens her hand over her chest. “Me? Are you crazy?!”
My pursed lips and eye roll don’t intimidate her.
“I admit nothing. But why don’t you go on and eat with him?” she suggests. “I’m not that hungry anyway. I’ll just go keep myself busy at the library. Got a juicy new book on hold, Firefighter’s Fairy Tale, and the sequel, The Heat is On.”
She’s on her way out the door—whistling in fact—before I agree to this ridiculous plan. I haven’t seen Sawyer since he left our office on Monday, and honestly, I’m a bit embarrassed about how I handled things that night. Even so, there’s no going back and doing it differently. I was emotional—I still am—and I went into self-preservation mode.
Rather than walk over to him, I go back to scanning the menu, narrowing my eyes and studying it like it’s in Russian. I notice Sawyer approach out of the corner of my eye, and then his hand barely touches my back.
“Come sit down,” he says gently. “They’ll bring us food.”
I look up, straight into his warm brown eyes, and the full weight of how much I’ve missed him this week seems to slam down onto me all at once. Regret and embarrassment war inside me. “How’d you know what I want?”
The edge of his mouth tips up in the barest hint of a smile. “Just got one of everything.”
Humph. No way to argue with that.
I let him lead me to the corner booth, and I take the seat across from him.
“For you,” he says, holding out the daisies.
They’re big, and fat, and yellow. There are so many of them they could fill two vases.
“They’re pretty.” I take them and set them aside. “I don’t deserve them.”
His eyebrows furrow. “Why’s that?”
“I was pretty mean to you on Monday. I should apologize.” I don’t even have the nerve to look him in the eye as I say it.
He doesn’t seem relieved by my apology. “It was a hard day. Are you doing okay?”
I shrug. “Not really. I’ve been keeping to myself a lot this week, trying to process things.”
“I respect that.” He swallows, pauses, then, “I’m curious though, that stuff you mentioned about Matthew…”
A flush overtakes my cheeks. Oh god. “Nothing’s happening there.”
In the days since he and his parents came to town, Matthew hasn’t tried to reach out to me, and I’m taking it as a sign that he might have followed my advice to go against their wishes.
Sawyer tips his head, studying me. “He did come here though?”
“He and his parents did, yeah. They…” I’m almost embarrassed to admit the cold, hard truth. “Essentially tried to bribe me to get back with Matthew. I don’t think they’re too excited about his new girlfriend or fiancée or whoever she is to him now.”