Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
He considers me for long moments that cross into minutes, and I consider nothing but my glass—the condensation that was quick to form on the outside and the taste of the liquor inside.
Visuals of that stupid barn wall and the way Summer’s face lit up when she first saw it dance inside my head. She begged me to keep it forever, and I felt like my heart was cracked in two because of what it symbolized for me.
There’s nothing I want more than to give her everything she wants, and there’s nothing I want less than to feel like I have to because time is running out.
Truth is, some days, I can barely breathe.
“You’re afraid Summer is going to like her, aren’t you?” Clay finally asks, cutting me so deep it bleeds.
I roll my eyes before admitting, “Are you kidding? All that fanciness? She’ll fall in love.”
“Maybe…I don’t know, Ben,” Clay says as softly and as gently as he can in a loud bar. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing, you know? Maybe a little Norah Ellis in your lives is exactly what you need.”
My stomach burns, and my throat feels like it’s closing in on itself.
Maybe a little Norah Ellis in your lives is exactly what you need.
That’s what I’m afraid of.
18
Norah
Tuesday, August 17th
Another week of working at CAFFEINE and messing up everything I touch. Another week of depending on Josie for simple necessities and a place to stay. Another week of feeling like I’m in limbo, waiting for the world to crash down around me.
And one full week of waiting to hear about the interview with nothing to show for it—and unfortunately, I really got my hopes up.
Agitation stirs inside me as Josie cleans the used grinds out of the espresso machine—that she finally got working again—and makes two customers’ drinks all at once.
The whole scene makes the writing on the wall more obvious—I’m useless here. And that stark reality only makes me think more about the one and only interview I attempted. Sure, it was entirely strange, and I didn’t actually talk to anyone, but painting that wall made me feel more like myself than I have in, well, forever.
Decorum tells me I should let it go. Try something else. Interview to shear sheep for Tad or settle for bagging groceries at Earl’s. But I’ve spent my whole life being the perfect little girl who does what other people expect of her, and now, every burning sensation in my body is rebelling against being that girl.
I watch Josie juggle two more orders and decide I can’t watch anymore. I can’t sit by and let life happen to me. It’s time I make life happen for me.
Screw this. I’m getting that job.
On a huff, I shove away from the counter, unwrap the tie on my green apron, and slam it down on the counter. The aggressive display causes several customers to look in my direction, all pairs of eyes wide and confused. And I’m not surprised that my unhinged, unexplained outburst has Josie scowling toward me.
Shit.
“Sorry.” I pick up the apron with apology in my eyes, and Josie goes back to making whatever fancy drink has her spraying a mound of whipped cream on top of cold coffee.
I hesitate for a long moment, a small part of me tempted to ask her if she knows anything about the mystery artist I still have no information on, but I decide I’m too vulnerable for that. I can’t risk other people’s opinions or the possibility that my only current hope balloon might get popped.
I need this hope. And I need to see it all the way through. On my own.
“Josie, I have to go somewhere. I…I can’t stay here and be useless and—”
“Okay,” Josie agrees without a second thought, without even looking up to meet my eyes. Frankly, I’m shocked. I figured she’d ask me questions. Interrogate me about where I needed to go. Something.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” She nods. “Just do me a favor, Hulk, and go easy on the equipment on your way out.”
Dramatically, I hang my apron on the hook by the door to the back kitchen and tiptoe my way around the counter. Josie has the decency to smile, and I’m almost laughing by the time I step out into the drizzle.
It’s a nasty day, one that makes me long for the hot stench of real summer, and I pull the hood of Lil’s Prada hoodie over my head and run for Josie’s old Civic like the water will melt me.
By the time I plop down in the driver’s seat, I’m breathing hard and silently cursing the mystery artist for making me go to so much trouble.
Good. Lord knows I’m going to need a bit of seething anger to bolster my confidence. I need backbone and determination and a “don’t take no for an answer” attitude, none of which are in my wheelhouse.