Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“This place is sooo cute,” I say when we arrive at the adorable little post office with the red door.
“Want to go inside?”
I look up at him with my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Yeah, is that weird?”
He chuckles. “Maybe, but let’s do it anyway.”
I squeal in excitement as I follow him in. The inside is cute, but it’s still just a post office. The clerk looks at us expectantly, so I head over to the rack of postcards. “Just looking for a postcard,” I say with a shy smile.
“Oh wow,” I say when I start to look at them. “These are really nice.” They’re all scenic views of the mountains in the area or of the tiny town.
I grab a couple to buy and Dylan takes them from me, insisting to pay for them.
“Which one is your favorite?” he asks, as I look at the rack one more time.
“Probably this one,” I say as I point to a beautiful picture of the town looking so cozy at night in the winter. The fresh snow is falling and it looks so magical with the warm glow of the streetlights. I have to come back here sometime around Christmas. It must feel like a movie.
He takes one off the rack and turns his back to me as he grabs a pen.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to peek over his shoulder, but that’s no easy task. His shoulders are the size of boulders.
He scribbles something on it and then asks for my address. I give it to him and he writes it down on the postcard, buys a stamp, and then mails it without showing it to me.
“What did you write?”
He shrugs with a grin. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
I can’t stop smiling. I’m so excited to get it in the mail and finally read the secret message.
We head back outside, chatting easily. I want to know everything about this man. And I mean everything.
“What’s your favorite song?” I ask him. I always need to know everyone’s favorite song. It’s a weird thing with me. Most people say they don’t know and that always drives me crazy.
“Glory Days, Bruce Springsteen.”
I smile as the chorus plays in my head. “I like it. Are your glory days behind you, Dylan?” I ask playfully.
“No,” he says, taking the question seriously even though I was just teasing him. “I have a feeling my glory days are just arriving.”
He looks at me as he says it and my whole body explodes into tingles. I don’t know how he keeps doing that to me, but he does.
“What’s yours?” he asks as we wander down the sidewalk on this perfect summer day.
“Wouldn’t It Be Nice by The Beach Boys. I just love it. It’s such a happy song. I love how the young lovers are just dreaming about the time when they can grow up and be together. I always found it inspiring. I don’t know why.”
“Good choice,” he says, nodding in approval. “We’ll dance to it at our wedding.”
I smile as we continue exploring the town. We head into the general store and the small bowling alley, although we don’t bowl. With those arms, Dylan would probably shatter the pins to pieces.
“Are you getting hungry?” I ask him as we both stop in front of an ice cream shop and linger at the window.
“I’m always hungry,” he says with a laugh.
“We can get lunch. I mean, if you want to.”
He slides his hand over mine and gently pulls me. “Let’s do it. At that restaurant up there?”
“Sure!”
We head into McArthur’s and I high-five the wooden grizzly bear beside the door on the way in. “The guy who picked me up from the train station said that the fish and chips here are excellent.”
“I’m sold,” Dylan says.
The place is perfect. Fun music is playing and there’s a bar area to the left with a mirror behind the rows of bottles. A few people are chatting as they’re eating at the high-top tables. It looks like it’s the place to be at night. The dining room has high booths along the wall and some tables scattered around. Servers and busboys are walking around, serving the dozen or so people already eating. It smells good in here too, like French fries and hamburgers. My stomach growls in approval.
I ask for a table for two and the hostess gives Dylan a good long stare as she collects the menus. She brings us to a quiet booth in the back and then gives him another long stare as she slides the silverware roll-ups and menus into place.
“Thank you,” I say curtly, attempting to dismiss her. She pays me no mind and gets another good eyeful of my date before heading back into the front.
I get a nervous, excited, tingling sensation sparkling through my body as I look at the menu. I realize that this is the first first date I’ve ever been on.