Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
I find a sweater I think would be a good seller, with lots of vibrant colors and wild patterns, and begin searching it for any pulled threads or stains. Not finding any, I tell it, “Into the cart, you go.” It doesn’t answer, considering it’s a sweater, but I don’t let that stop me.
Singing and humming to myself, I look for more treasures and luckily, I find several. It’s already a great day, and when I see my favorite cashier, Patricia, is manning the register, I’m even happier. “Hey, girl, you have a good Thanksgiving?”
She smiles, looking tired but happy. “It was okay. Lots of work, especially since I made the turkey again this year. But I’ll take that option every year over John doing it again. He nearly caught the carport on fire last year. Whoever heard of frying a turkey, anyway?” Her shrug says she might not be so against her husband cooking again if—and that’s a big if—he could do it safely. “How about you?”
“Best one I’ve ever had,” I answer honestly.
“Good for you,” she says with a nod. “Oh! Hang on, I put something in the back for you. Let me grab it.”
This is one of the many reasons Patricia is my favorite cashier. Not only is she friendly and chatty, but she also understands that I’m just trying to make a buck like everyone else. She’s adjusted pricing when someone got a little spin-happy with the pricing gun—I mean, seriously, is anyone going to pay $80 for a used Gunne Sax dress with stains and a missing button, even if it is designer? No, which is why she lowered it to a reasonable forty, allowing me to clean and rework it, then sell it as a custom piece.
And now, she’s saving the good stuff for me too? I’m gonna owe her a finder’s fee at this rate.
She returns with a chocolate brown, calf-length leather coat, with fringe hanging from a yoke outlined in conchos. It’s my western-wear dream and a sure-fire big seller. Depending on what it’s marked, I could probably profit more on this one piece than I have from everything else I’ve sold this month.
Eyes wide, I gasp and move to slam my hands over my mouth, thankfully stopping right before I make contact because I haven’t sanitized the hell out of my hands yet. “It’s gorgeous,” I tell her in shock, as if she can’t see that for herself, and she nods excitedly.
“I knew you’d love it.” She hands it over to me, and I grasp it to my chest, my jaw dropping open.
“I do! Thank you so much!”
She makes a few clicks on the register and tells me the total, which is only fifty dollars higher than before she added the coat. I tilt my head, giving her a questioning look, and she waves a hand, acting like it’s no big deal when it most definitely is. I swipe my card and tell her thank you again, vowing to see her later this week.
The day’s getting better by the moment, and I virtually dance my way out to my car. By the time I pick Grace up from school, I’m buzzing with joy. Or maybe it’s caffeine, because it’s been such a great day that I preemptively stopped and got us both peppermint mocha Frappuccinos. Mine’s half gone already and I feel like I could take on the world.
When Grace hops in my car and sees the whipped cream-filled, domed cup, she screeches so loud that I swear my eardrum considers rupturing. A second later, she’s sucking down the minty-chocolatey goodness like it’s the oxygen she needs to breathe.
“Thank you, Riley!”
I don’t even second-guess the caffeine choice at her riding lesson. Her canter with Pegasus has gotten so good that even I can see the difference. She stays centered and rides smoothly, like she’s with Pegasus, not merely hanging on for dear life while the horse does its thing beneath her.
“Looking good, Grace,” Miller calls out to her, and I can’t help but clap proudly.
Miller turns his head, peering back at me on the bleachers from where he’s standing ringside. “You don’t have to sit out here for every lesson, you know?” he reminds me. “It’s cold as balls and it’s not like she gives a shit if the nanny’s watching.”
We’ve been in the ring barn for Grace’s lessons for several weeks now, and though it’s technically heated, it’s still chilly. I’ve learned to dress in layers, wearing a coat and beanie, plus bringing a heavy blanket to wrap around me, because if there’s one thing I’m gonna do, it’s watch Grace’s lessons. Every one, every time, from warm-up to cool-down, and then stay out of the way while she does her chores.
“She absolutely cares. And so do I,” I counter. As if proving my point, Grace glances over to me and smiles as she goes by. She doesn’t wave, which shows how focused she is on her balance and keeping her reins held properly. “I love watching her ride.”