Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 49888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
I don’t know. Maybe.
What’s the harm? I have to try something.
I go ahead and click on the “Apply Now” button in the corner. It’s a form with boxes for me to write things about myself. I happen to have a resume handy from when I applied at the Country Gifte Shoppe, but the text fields where I get to tell about myself are where I really shine, I think. I just go ahead and talk about how I love kids, I love St. Charles, and I really love to cook.
I click on the “Submit” button and lean back in my chair. Part of me wants to congratulate myself on being done, but did I really do anything? I talked about myself and clicked a button. That doesn’t seem like a lot.
Since I am on a roll, I go ahead and apply to the other two jobs in my neighborhood. Why not? Seriously, why not?
To my absolute shock, I get a notification that I have a new email. The first job I applied for is a woman named Cynthia, and she would like me to come for an interview tomorrow morning.
My stomach instantly feels queasy. I guess I didn’t really think this was going to happen.
But… Okay? I have to be strong here.
The universe is trying to tell you something, I caution myself. Make sure you don’t just run away when you are supposed to be running toward it!
With a sigh, I get my courage together and write her back. I would be happy to interview with her in the morning. As a matter of fact, I would just love it. I can start right away. I can’t wait to meet her and her (counting the little heads in the picture again, just to be sure) five beautiful children.
Okay, Olivia, I tell myself in my best pep talk interior monologue. It’s time to get serious.
Chapter 11
STEPHAN
At first, I am not sure what that sound is. I just got out of the shower, and I’m still wet. Maybe I just imagined it.
But then I hear it again coming from downstairs. It’s a peculiar buzzing noise… The doorbell?
Who the hell rings the doorbell at a fire station?
“Pete!” I yell out of the bathroom door. My voice echoes along the empty hall. “Trigger! Is one of you assholes going to get that?”
Nobody answers me, but the bell doesn’t go off again either. I use the thin towel to dry myself, then quickly slap some moisturizer on my elbows and shoulders, knees, and just a little bit under my ball sack for good measure.
What. I have nice skin. Don’t judge me.
As I pull on my jockey shorts and a pair of sweatpants, I remember that Pete and Trigger said they were going out to the stables to work on upgrading the electric in one of the old circuits. Bubba’s idea or something.
We all knew it needed to be done. There is a series of lights out there that is still run off the old knob-and-tube service from a hundred years ago. It’s not a big hazard, and it hasn’t been a big emergency either. But since Pete is on this sudden kick of doing everything by the book, he decided this was the greatest time to get that chore struck off the list.
Fine. Let them. I wouldn’t mind a few minutes by myself.
There is still a lot of stuff to do around here. Part of me wants to not do it, because Pete gets so frustrated when he has to ask me and I enjoy annoying him. But I know it needs to be done. It won’t take me more than a couple of minutes to mop the upstairs hallway. I can definitely knock that out before he gets back.
Steam billows around me as I fill up the bucket with hot water from the floor sink tap. I add a healthy splash of Pine-Sol. I love that smell. Not even the lemon Pine-Sol. Just pure, in-your-face Pine-Sol.
There’s that damn buzzer again.
I guess they didn’t give up. Whoever it is, they are probably either lost or trying to sell us something. Okay. I am up for some amusement. Magazines? A relationship with our Lord and Savior? Girl Scout cookies? Let’s see what they’ve got.
I open the door to see Olivia standing there. My breath catches in my throat. She is wearing a pretty pink dress, something modest with a high collar. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head, and wavy strands frame her face, blowing lightly in the summer breeze.
She smiles when she sees me, bouncing lightly on her toes, which are strapped into dainty little summer sandals. Pale pink, like her toenails. Her eyes skate over my skin, and I suddenly realize that I am still shirtless after my shower.