Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
A plump silver-haired lady who looked a lot like Rose came bustling over to us, a coffee pot in her hand. “You must be the two Rose called me about. Come on in and sit wherever you’d like,” she said. “Not too busy this morning, so plenty of options.”
We thanked her, and I followed Gianni across the room to a booth where I slid in across from him. It was set for two, with upturned mugs on a paper placemat featuring different birds of North America. Mine was a tufted titmouse, which I hoped Gianni wouldn’t notice. After removing my hat and gloves, I unbuttoned my coat and pulled my arms out of the sleeves.
“Want me to hang it up?” Gianni offered.
“No, thanks.”
Mae came by a minute later with menus and the coffee pot. As she turned the mugs over and filled them, she chattered nonstop. “How about that snowstorm? One of the worst ones I ever seen, and I seen a lot. I wasn’t even sure Harold—that’s my son, he just lives across the street—would make it over to cook this morning, but he did.” She chuckled with pride. “Otherwise I’da been cooking and serving today. Sign says three-sixty-five, and I mean three-sixty-five. Never been closed a single day in twenty-seven years.”
“That’s what we heard from Rose,” said Gianni. “So what should I have?”
“The farmer’s omelette,” said Mae without hesitation. “With a side of breakfast sausage and toast. We make our own sausage here, and you don’t want to miss it.”
“Sounds perfect.” He handed her the menu back.
“I’ll have scrambled eggs and bacon please,” I said. “And a side of breakfast potatoes.”
“You got it. Any juice for you?”
Gianni and I both shook our heads, and Mae left to put our order in with Harold.
Alone again, I picked up my thick white coffee mug and took a sip, carefully avoiding Gianni’s eyes.
“So are we going to talk?” he asked.
“About what?”
“About what I told you last night.”
“I don’t see what’s to talk about,” I said evenly. “You should take the offers—both of them.”
“Are you saying that because you want to be rid of me?”
I hesitated. “Partly.”
He laughed. “At least you’re honest.”
“Always. And I think that’s what had me so upset last night. I felt like you’d been dishonest.”
“Ellie, I just needed time to think the offer through—I was going to tell you. And the Tastemaker cover . . .” His eyes pleaded with me to understand his position. “I couldn’t tell you right away. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
I averted my gaze so that his sincerity wouldn’t get to me. “It just felt like one minute you were all ‘I’ll always have your back’—”
“That’s true.”
“And the next you were like, ‘and while I’m here at your back, rubbing my dick on your butt, let me just stick this knife in and twist it a little.’”
He laughed, then quickly straightened his face. “Sorry.”
I shrugged. “And maybe it’s not really what happened, but that’s what it felt like in the moment.”
“I get it,” he said. “And I really am sorry.”
I took another sip of coffee and tried to ignore the way my heartbeat was quickening at his puppy dog eyes. “But let’s forget about me for a minute. What do you want?”
Gianni lifted his coffee to his lips and thought about it. “I want to wake up and feel alive every day. I never want to dread going to work. I never want to be bored. I want to challenge myself to do new and different things. And most of all, I want to prove Mrs. Peabody wrong.”
For a second, I was confused. “Wait. Mrs. Peabody, our fourth-grade teacher?”
“Yeah. She once told me I’d never amount to a damn thing.”
My jaw dropped. “She said that to your face?”
“Yeah. She said I was lazy and stupid, a waste of her time, and I’d never amount to anything.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I mean, looking back, maybe I can’t blame her, since I was always missing assignments, constantly talking and fooling around in class, breaking playground rules.”
“But she was an adult, and you were a kid.”
“Yeah. I never told anyone about it either—not my parents or my brothers or my friends. But I never forgot it.” He focused on his coffee again, like it was no big deal, but something struck me.
“You believed her.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. Then. “Maybe.”
“She was an adult and authority figure, so you believed her.” My heart ached for the nine-year-old kid who must have been devastated to hear his teacher say such mean things. “Gianni, it wasn’t true. I mean, maybe you weren’t well-behaved, but you weren’t stupid.”
“I wasn’t smart like her favorites though. She preferred the brainy, quiet kids like you. The ones who sat still with a book and actually read it. I couldn’t sit there for a minute without looking around and trying to think up some other way to pass the time, even if it meant getting in trouble.”