Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
I rush to the front door, slipping on my flip flops as I go, before hauling ass to my car.
Thankfully, there’s no traffic, and I make it to Déjà Brew with a few minutes to spare. If there’s one thing my mama hates, it’s when people keep her waiting.
Unfortunately, she rarely extends the same courtesy to others. Such is life with Stacey Armstrong.
“Hey, Mama,” I say, sliding into the booth across from her. “How have you been?” I don’t bother asking how long she’s been waiting—because if it’s more than five minutes, I’ll definitely hear about it.
She looks down at her diamond-encrusted watch and back up at me, twirling a strand of her long, bottled blonde hair absentmindedly around her finger. “I’ve been good, Sweetpea. You?”
I shrug. I don't really have any interesting updates in my life at the moment. “You know, the usual.”
Her eyes narrow as she flattens her lips. Clearly, she thinks I’m full of shit. Honestly, I wish I was. My mother has the most exciting life, and sometimes it feels like she’s disappointed with how dull mine is by comparison.
“I mean it. You know I'm boring.” I drum my fingers on the table between us. “Nothing to tell.”
She hums at me under her breath, but doesn't press, probably because she knows it’s a lost cause—I’m a lost cause.
“What about you? Are you excited for your cruise?”
She shimmies her shoulders and snaps her fingers. “More than you know.”
“Remind me again where all you're going?” I ask even though I know her itinerary like the back of my hand. She’s been looking forward to this trip for a while now, and I know she wants to discuss it—probably in great detail.
“Oh, Scarlet, we’re going to Aruba, Bonaire, Curaçao, St. Lucia, and Barbados.” She practically has cartoon heart eyes as she rattles off the list of stops along the way.
“Ugh, that sounds amazing,” I sigh, more than a little jealous.
“I invited you.” She shrugs one shoulder, not looking the least bit apologetic. “I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures for you though.”
“So generous.” I smile, and she does, too. “And I know you invited me, but I couldn't very well take an entire month off work. Plus, you know Nora asked me to keep James overnight this weekend. It's her first time leaving him.”
“That friend of yours sure does plan things in advance.”
“Does she plan in advance, or are you just last minute?”
This time she smiles while she shrugs, showing off her pearly whites. “I am what I am, Sweetpea.”
“And I love all you are,” I assure her. Not that she needs it. My mom knows how much I love her. She's been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Even if she does have a massive case of wanderlust and is hardly ever here now that I'm grown.
We chat for a few more minutes until our favorite server, Amelia, comes by our table. “Good afternoon, ladies. Are we sticking with the usual or are we thinking of changing it up today?”
Deja Brew’s different from any other coffee shop I’ve ever been to. It started off as a simple coffee shop with like five things on the menu, but it’s grown and grown, and now, it’s more like a restaurant, operating with table service instead of an order counter.
And don’t even get me started on the vibes—it’s all dark wood, slate tiles, mismatched furniture, and twinkle lights—cute and cozy with the absolute best drinks and baked goods imaginable.
“I’ll do a cinnamon dolce latte, please.”
She taps my order in and asks, “Have you tried our new coffee cake muffin? I think you’ll love it.”
“Mmmm, count me in.”
“You’re such an easy sale, Scar,” Mom cackles throwing her head back.
“My favorite kind of customer,” Amelia says before turning toward my mom. “And you?”
“Green tea and a Karma bowl with –”
“Light honey? You got it. These will be out shortly.”
“So what part of your cruise are you most excited for?” I ask once Amelia walks away and immediately regret it.
If there was a later-in-life-sex-positivity award, my mother would win it.
“The men, obviously.” She sighs, with a far off look on her face, almost as if she’s imagining a literal buffet of biceps and abs.
“Of course you are.” I have to repress the full-body shudder that wants to take over.
“Listen, kid. When you get to be my age, you don't take things like a man who knows what he's doing for granted. Your stepfather, God rest his soul—”
“Nope.” I cover my ears. “La-la-la-la-la. Don't want to hear it, Mama.”
She rolls her eyes. “How you can be grown and still be such a child, I'll never understand.”
I scoff, pretending to be more offended than I am. “I don't think not wanting to hear about my mother's sex life makes me a child. Boundaries exist for a reason, so how about we pretend you actually have some. Or at the very least, you respect mine.”