Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
And there she was.
The woman from the grocery store.
With the red hair and fake fur jacket.
Except, now, she was wearing massively oversized black men’s sweatpants and a cut-off shirt that, when she raised her hand up, showed off a bit of underboob.
“My car broke down,” Mere said, making the woman stop looking at me, and turn to her roommate, her brows pinching.
“What? You just had it in the shop.”
“I know,” Mere agreed. “Thankfully, Cesare happened by, and offered to drop me off at home.”
“Oh, I’ll bet he did,” the woman said, her devilish smile shooting in my direction. “Cesare, was it?” she asked.
“Right. Sorry. Cesare, this is my cousin, Vega. Vega, this is Cesare. He’s kind of a partner in the flower business.”
“Is he now? Well, isn’t that just… fan-tastic?” she asked, delight clear in her green eyes. Darker than Mere’s. In fact, really, there was no family resemblance at all. “So, Cesare, have you been working closely with Mere?” she asked as I moved inside, softly closing the door.
“We’ve run into each other a few times,” I told her, glancing over at Mere who was busily making a pot of coffee that I didn’t actually want, curious why she wouldn’t have mentioned the encounters to her cousin. Especially when she’d caught me snooping around Dennis’s office. That was the kind of shit you discussed with your roommate, wasn’t it? Hell, my sister could talk about the tiniest, most nothing detail of her day in excruciatingly fine detail.
“Vega is an interesting name,” I said, trying to fill the silence in the room.
“It’s where my mom and dad fucked when they got pregnant with me,” Vega said, making a chuckle escape me as, across the room, Mere’s face went beet red. “Cesare is an interesting name.”
“Italian,” I said, shrugging.
“No shit. You kind of look like you’re in the mafia,” she said, shocking me enough that I had no immediate comeback to that.
“Vega!” Mere hiss-yelled at her cousin, giving her wide eyes and a stern brow.
“What? It’s a compliment. Mob guys are hot. Well, in the movies and shows. In real life, maybe not so much,” Vega said, shrugging. “So, if you’re a partner in the flower shop, why have I never seen you before?”
“I live in the city.”
“New York City?” she clarified, watching me with penetrative eyes.
“Yes. But I lived here for a few years a while back. While I was here, I invested.”
“In Dennis?” It was somehow an incredulous statement and a question in one. Something that said of all people at the end.
“Every town needs a florist. Always do a solid business. Seemed like a solid investment,” I said, shrugging.
“Why are you questioning him?” Mere asked, shaking her head, then shooting me an apologetic smile as she reached for coffee mugs. “Sorry, it’s part of her job, I guess.”
“A cop?” I asked.
“No,” Vega said with a sniff that maybe spoke of some run-ins with cops at some point in her life.
I knew the feeling.
“Lawyer?” I tried again.
“Yes,” Mere said at the exact time that Vega said, “No.”
To that, Mere let out an exasperated sigh. “But you are, though. You passed the bar. The fact that you don’t work as a lawyer is beside the point. She’s a paralegal,” Mere explained. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Let me guess,” Vega said. “Black.”
“Cream and sugar, actually, if you have it,” I countered.
“Man after my own heart,” Vega said, walking over toward the kitchen to take the mug that her cousin was pushing toward her.
Her attention averted, I got a chance to really look around.
And all I could say was that it somehow screamed “Mere,” even though I probably didn’t know her well enough to come to those conclusions.
Maybe it was the way she so seamlessly blended into it all, where Vega’s wild self seemed to jump out.
It wasn’t a huge space. The living room was cut off from the kitchen with the island.
Everything was very… crisp. Which might have just been a nicer way of saying white. There was a lot of white. White walls, baseboards, ceilings, cabinets, the countertop, and even the couch.
The carpet in the living room was a mix of white and a beige that matched the linen drapes that framed the windows.
The wood around the house actually all looked real and refinished.
Across from the couch was a giant TV that seemed to clash with the rest of the decor, including the electric fireplace beneath it.
Judging by the pile of blankets, the junk food on the coffee table, and the paused video game on the screen, the TV seemed to be there for Vega. A concession, probably, that would allow Mere to decorate the rest of the place.
There was minimal, but tasteful art on the walls.
And not a goddamn thing was out of place.
Not only that, but the place was white-glove clean. There wasn’t a speck of dust or dirt anywhere to be found. Not chilling on the tops of picture frames or on the baseboards.