Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Oliver runs so hot and cold, surely it can only be a matter of time before I become lukewarm.
I sigh as I reach for my phone, the browser already open to the A Little Bird column. I scroll past today’s installment without bothering to follow the link to Bookface Marketplace. I wonder who took the photos that night. It’s strange how they chose Fin, when any fool can see Oliver is the alpha of their little pack.
Weird. The previous posts seem to be missing. The one from the restaurant and the one where Mitch tried to bring me down to his (snake belly) level.
Wow. I slump back in my chair. Maybe Oliver did sic his legal team on the column.
“This is nothing to worry about. Anyone with half a brain would see this for what it is.”
Oliver’s response to Mitch’s she’s a lying ho pitch echoes in my head. But he didn’t mention legal action until I showed him the photographs . . .
Does that mean he’s into me?
Maybe I’m not the only one in this weird love-to-hate-you-but-still-want-to-ride-your-face place.
I push away the thoughts. Oliver cooties are an absolute head fuck.
Chapter 24
EVIE
“Well, that nasty mange has cleared up, cutie. You’ll be curled up next to your forever love in no time.”
“You think there’s hope for me?” I say, leaning over the fence. With my vacation time over, I’ve worked twelve-hour shifts this week, and now I’m at Nora’s. And so is Yara. Yay!
“Don’t creep up on me,” she splutters, then she giggles as the terrier she’s been treating leaps forward and licks her nose. “Ew, stop that, Barney!”
I smile at the sight of her being overwhelmed by a tiny bundle of four-legged gratitude. Maybe there really isn’t anything in the world that equals the love of a dog.
“You know what Nora would say.”
“You know where ’er tongue ’as been?” Yara answers in some imitation of Nora’s accent as she pushes the grateful West Highland white terrier mix away from her face. “The old ones are always the best. You done with your list?”
“Like a boss.” There’s been no letup from Nora’s these past weeks, not that I mind. Though now that I’m back at work, I’m seriously coming to miss my luxury spa days. “Old Bess’s ears are looking much less sore, so I’d say the drops worked, and I’ve taken the cone of shame from the new Great Dane cross horse.”
“Has he got a name yet?”
“Nora’s calling him Scooby. No Doo,” I add. “Oh, and that rash on the springer spaniel wasn’t ringworm but beetroot.”
“Beetroot?” Yara repeats, struggling to her feet. “Yeah, yeah, I’d love me, too, if I’d made my skin look brand new,” she laughs, patting the still-bouncy terrier.
“From Nora’s sandwich, apparently.”
“Really?” She glances briefly my way as we gather the tricks of our trade together.
“That’s what it looks like to me. I remembered how that day she was eating a sandwich, and it washed off.” I wave my hands in a kind of ta-daa! “You know her eyesight isn’t the greatest.”
Yara stretches her head to the side, as though trying to work out a kink in her neck. “Think we need to broach the subject of her driving license with her?”
Now it’s my turn to pull a face. “I think our duty of care in this instance—”
“—is not to the old dear who’d tear us a new one at the first sign of interference?”
“That’s about the sum of it.” Leaning over the gate, I slide the bolt open as Yara administers the last of her treatment—a liver treat—to her patient. “You’ve just got to know how to handle her.”
“I defer to you, oh knowledgeable one, but I would just like to point out that she has just taken the DisAstra on a trip to the bakery,” she says, using the nickname we’ve given her ancient Astra station wagon.
“Let’s add that to the list of shit to worry about later.”
“Speaking of shit, did you get yours back yet?”
I smile at her back as she closes the gate. Not only does Yara not speak Pulse Tok, but she clearly doesn’t read that stupid column. But neither would I if I weren’t part of their current obsession.
“Not yet.” Maybe I should get Oliver’s lawyers to intervene here too. My wand would come in handy.
“Is Bitchell still giving you shit?”
“Eh. Not me. He turned up at Riley’s again. Lori was not pleased.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo.” She drags a finger down her cheek to mimic tears, her mouth turning down at the edges. “She’s completely the wrong person to ask to pass on a punch in the face.”
“Especially on my behalf.”
“You haven’t seen him since . . .”
“Since the wedding that wasn’t?” I shake my head. “And I hope to keep it that way, especially as he seems to be suffering from a case of main-character syndrome.”