Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Her anonymity only drives me closer to madness. I want to know everything about her.
I realize she’s staring at me, waiting for my agreement to their terms.
“Great, I’ll sit in the back. I’ll be quiet. But after, you’ll talk to me. I think you will want to hear what I have to say.”
F O U R
Selma
THE COFFEE SHOP AT the student center is nearly empty. There’s one other occupied table with a group of girls looking like Cameron’s age. The only other occupants are the two monsters that come with Ash, darting their eyes around the room like secret service agents.
I wiggle the base of my paper cup full of hot tea on the table, trying to digest everything Ash has told me.
My head is spinning, and I know Ash is looking at me, but I can’t seem to force myself to meet his eyes again.
I looked a minute ago. I thought I was going to pass out.
It’s not just the color of his eyes, they look like the full moon. Gray and silver and luminescent. His face is angular; strong, but with a calm confidence I’ve not felt from a man before. He’s clean shaven—almost too clean, as though he shaved just before he came in to find me. Then there’s that scar. I want to know the story behind that scar...
“Anastasia?” He nods, looking at me from under his thick brow. “I know it’s a lot to take in. You look pale. Are you okay? Are you going to say anything?”
“I’m...fine. But I’m not sure what to say.” I manage on a croak.
I bring my hands up to cover my mouth and take a conscious breath.
Something about this man makes me wildly nervous, yet somehow at ease. He’s also making flocks of butterflies zoom around in my belly, and there’s a throbbing down low that I know is lust.
And lust is something I’ve never felt before.
It’s a sin. Such a sin.
I’ve been lying to Papa and now this. It’s the devil tempting me. I’m falling into the darkness, little by little, just like Papa says happens.
“Well, let’s start with this.” He reaches to the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a checkbook. “I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I’m hoping this will settle us without the need for any negative publicity. Recipes aren’t actually protected by law. Of course, if you want to take independent advice, I can set that up for you, but either way, I want to make this right between us.” I force myself to meet his eyes, and I see anticipation. I shake my head, unsure what to say. “Know it’s a personal check, but I assure you it’s good. There will be more royalties to come as well, so I would suggest we set up a corporation for you for further proceeds.”
“A corporation...?” My upbringing has given me zero preparation for anything like this. In my community, women do not handle the day-to-day finances, let alone start corporations.
Or blogs and YouTube channels.
Papa gives me a monthly allowance for the chores and work I do, but it’s always cash. I keep it in a jar in the back of my closet. That’s what a bank account means to me.
“Anastasia Snow, correct?” He glances at me as he writes on the check with a silver pen.
I stare blankly as the pen moves over the paper, then he rips it from the stack of checks and slides it toward me, spinning it around, so it’s right side up for me.
And there are no words.
After a moment, he clears his throat before talking. “That is the estimated profit share we would have negotiated with you to use your recipe for cinnamon, cashew and sriracha muffins, and cookies, that one of our project chefs stole from your blog. Plus, ten percent for my conscience. I run an ethical business to the best of my ability, and I assure you he is no longer in our employ. I do not condone that sort of action, and I want to make it right with you.”
“I—” I gulp air, trying to keep from hyperventilating. “I can’t accept this.”
First, what am I going to do with a check made out to Anastasia Snow?
Second, how will I ever explain this to Papa?
It would crush him.
I’m all he has left. My whole life, he’s guided my every move. My mother left us when I was just seven, going back to her life on the outside. I always wondered why she didn’t return for me. Why I wasn’t enough for her to stay.
She wasn’t from the community. Papa fell in love with her when she was just seventeen, and he was twenty-one. She worked at a feed store in Indiana where Papa spent the summer helping on his Uncle’s farm that year. Against his parents’ wishes, he married her and brought her back here to Ohio.