Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I just picked the car up after my breakfast shift at the diner, and I was itching to take it out for a drive. So, I decided to take a drive out to Thistleberry Farm, which is where I’m heading now, to buy some of the fresh produce they sell. Healthy food for the baby, who is growing nicely.
I had my latest checkup and the twenty-week ultrasound yesterday.
I decided not to find out the gender at the ultrasound. I want the surprise at the birth. So, I’ve taken to calling the baby Olive since that conversation I had with River about the fruit—
And nope, not going there. River is a no-go topic for me nowadays.
I haven’t seen him since that night. Not a glimpse. Not that I’ve been actively looking for him because I haven’t been.
I refuse to even look in the direction of his house.
And I’m totally fine about it all now.
I was sad at first, but then I figured, I couldn’t lose something that I never had, right? And, apparently, I never had his friendship.
Okay, so I might still be a little mad. But it’s fine.
He’s nothing to do with anything.
So, yeah, Olive is now the length of a small banana and coming along nicely. I have a decent-sized bump now, so I’m really showing, and I’ve had to invest in some maternity clothes to keep up with my ever-growing waistline. Thankfully, my diner uniform includes black pants, which I got a couple of maternity ones that have the stretchy waistband—so sexy. And my work shirt is provided by Sadie. She’s ordered me in another shirt, a couple of sizes up, as the last one she got me, which I’m wearing now, is tight across my belly already.
I can’t believe I’m twenty weeks, and it’s March 1 already. Time is flying by. Christmas seems like an age ago.
I spent Christmas Day with Sadie and Buddy. Sadie cooked a turkey, and I helped with the rest. It was fun and happy. My first Christmas in a long time where I felt safe.
New Year’s Eve I spent with Buddy. Sadie and Guy went out to some bars. They’d tried to talk me into going, but bars aren’t really my thing. They’d said it was my last New Year before the baby came, my last New Year of freedom. But what they don’t realize is, I have more freedom now than I ever have. And, honestly, I’d rather be home with Buddy.
I turn on the radio. My car fills with the sound of “River” by Leon Bridges.
Nope. Just nope.
I switch the radio off and travel the rest of the way in silence.
I arrive at Thistleberry Farm fifteen minutes later.
I park my car in one of the parking spots, grab my purse off the passenger seat, and head on into the store.
And I stop dead in my tracks.
River is standing behind the counter.
My heart does this weird shimmy in my chest at the sight of him.
I’m staring at him.
He’s staring back at me. His face is a mask of surprise.
I think mine mirrors his.
I need to look away.
Turning away, I grab a basket and start moving through the store with no real direction other than to get as far away from him as possible.
What the fudge is he doing here? And why is he working behind the counter?
I really want to leave. But that would look weird, and if I just walked out, he’d know that I was bothered by seeing him.
Also, I came all this way for some fresh produce, and goddamn it, I’m getting my fresh produce!
As I move through the aisles, I start grabbing things off the shelves at random, dropping them in the basket.
When I stop and look down, I see I’ve got a jar of pickled green tomatoes, a jar of hot pickled radishes, a green pepper, a bunch of asparagus, a jar of applesauce, a tray of cherry tomatoes, a bag of pumpkin bread, and a jar of sweet potato butter.
Huh. Calm down there, Rachael Ray.
Well, I can’t put the stuff back because I’ll look like a complete tool, so I’ll have to just buy it. And the pumpkin bread and sweet potato butter look yummy.
Calming down, I start actually looking at the items I’m getting, focusing on them and not in the direction of where I know River is still standing at the counter.
I hate that I’m so aware of him.
Ugh.
I stop by the gala apples and look down at them, picking out ones that look the best, dropping them into my basket.
I feel movement to my right. Followed by the scent of cigar smoke.
River.
“Red.”
The sound of his voice is like welcome rain on a hot day. I hate that, too. I hate the way it intensifies the ache in my chest.
Why is he talking to me?