Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I grab a soda from the refrigerator, pop the top, and sip.
“I sure am. The fair.”
I’m wearing another one of my usual outfits tonight: a short, cotton summer dress, white with an eyelet hem, and spaghetti straps. I threw a small, fitted, cropped cardigan over it with my cowboy boots.
“Storm’s coming,” he says.
“Yeah, I saw that. But it’s not supposed to break until much later I heard.”
Mona waltzes in having just gotten out of a bath, the lavender bath bomb scent still clinging to her skin. “Hi, sweetie.” She looks me over. “You goin’ out again?”
“The fair. Johnny invited me.”
“Storm’s coming.”
Getting rain here is equivalent to the second coming. Everyone knows, and then they make sure everyone else knows. Then everyone talks about it.
“Yep. I’m not worried. I’ll be home by then.”
“You goin’ on a date?” Mona asks, both of them watching me expectantly.
“I’m not sure.”
“See, that right there is the problem. If you don’t know, then the answer is no.”
My shoulders fall. Dang it, she’s right again. “Do you ever get tired of being right?”
She thinks about it. “Not so far.”
I don’t make the same mistake twice. No siree, I do not. This time, I wait inside the house until the Uber I ordered to go to the fair pulls up and parks. Then I make a mad dash for it.
Throwing open the door, I jump in the back seat and startle the driver. “Drive! Go, go, go!” I strongly encourage at a very high volume, higher than absolutely necessary. When he doesn’t immediately floor it, I add waving at him. “Gooooo.”
He hits the gas and the car fishtails, shooting down the driveway. No Shane in sight, but it’s dark out tonight with the storm brewing and I don’t trust him not to be lurking somewhere. Which means I trust him to lurk. The man has got lurking down pat.
“You okay, lady?” The driver glances in the rearview mirror at me, expression concerned.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” Then it dawns on me. “Oh. Oh, no, I wasn’t being held against my will or anything. There’s a guy…” I exhale tiredly. “He’s… he’s very bossy and doesn’t like me having fun, so he insists on coming with me on the very few occasions I do go out, and then he cockblocks me––”
“Your husband?” he asks with an accent I can’t place.
“My husband? No, not my husband.” I snort. “I’m not trying to cheat on my husband. I’m trying to find a husband.”
“Ohhh, haha.”
“Yes, haha. It’s not easy.”
“You are pretty woman. Cannot be hard.”
“What’s your name?”
“Yashar.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Yashar.”
“Nice to meet you.” He smiles at me in the mirror and I can see he’s young, in his early twenties.
“Not a lot of men want to settle down and have a big family these days, you know,” I continue on my rant. He did nothing to deserve this, but I don’t feel like stopping. “They want to have fun, and travel, and rifle through their choices.”
We finally reach the entrance of the fairgrounds, the sky lit up with the reflection of the light on the rides. They used to have fireworks displays, but they’ve been canceled with the threat of fires they pose.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I find myself asking him. The pathetic is strong tonight.
“Yes, I’m married. I have two children. Boy and a girl.”
I’m on the verge of tears.
“That is wonderful. Good for you. Well, thanks for the ride.” I hop out, feeling worse about myself than I did before. All in all, not such a great start to the evening.
What does one do when one is in a generally crappy mood and one needs to feel better? One goes looking for sugar.
The first food booth I want to hit up is the funnel cake booth. These are not your ordinary funnel cakes. It’s Ojai, which means they’re gourmet.
I think about going to see Johnny first and sussing out whether we could be a thing, but I should probably do it in a better state of mind. It wouldn’t be fair to him otherwise.
On the way to stuffing my face, I run into Brandon, my farrier. He’s an amazing person. Dry sense of humor. Huge heart. So patient with all my scared babies. He’s also married with three kids. I joke that if they finally decide to clone people like they clone sheep and expensive polo ponies, I am signing up for a first-generation Brandon clone.
“Bluebird,” he drawls standing in line with his daughter to ride the tea cup ride.
“Brandon Markey, what trouble are you stirring up at the fair?” I turn my attention to his eleven-year-old daughter who’s a frequent guest at the rescue. “Hi, Darla.” She waves and smiles with crooked teeth. She’s so adorable she makes me yearn.
“How’s Legend?” Darla asks.
“Getting stronger every day. He’s put on about five hundred pounds already. You should come and see him next time your dad comes to do his feet.”