Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
I pedal across the bridge, heading into Shelburne Falls in the dark as I let go of the handle bars. I hold out my hands, balancing as I ride with my backpack strapped to my back.
He kissed me.
I let out a breathy laugh, unable to contain it. He kissed me like he couldn’t stop.
His arms had been so tight, and his hands left bruises on my thighs. I glance down at my left leg, seeing the purple and not minding it at all. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, and I knew he would’ve stopped if I’d told him to, but I let him squeeze and grip and hold, because it felt like he wanted to glue me to him so he’d never be without me. For a few minutes, it felt like that.
My lips are swollen, and in the hours since he kissed me goodnight and dropped me off at home, it’s the kisses I thought of more than how hard he was or how good the orgasm hit.
He’d wiped himself off my stomach, but I hadn’t washed the underwear. I’m not sure I will. He’ll wake up with guilt this morning and act like the jerk later, but I’ll have the panties to remind me that he got off on me, no matter how much he tries to ruin it.
Cruising into the center of town, I peer over my shoulder, the street behind me quiet and misty. Porch lights shine, trees sway in the breeze, and cars sit parked along both curbs, empty and dark. I can’t see the clouds above me, but I smell them. It was supposed to be a clear day, so let’s hope it holds out.
Barreling down High Street, I’m about to take a left to go around the building, to the back, but someone waits at my front door.
I recognize Mrs. Jamieson. “Morning!” I shout.
She waves, looking relieved to see me.
I slow and jump off my bike, walking it onto the sidewalk and digging out my keys.
“Thanks for being here so early,” she says.
“Oh, it’s no problem.” I unlock the shop. “Lots to do, so I’d be up anyway.”
Leaving the Closed sign facing outward, I prop the door open so she can carry her order out.
Shelby Jamieson is married to someone my sister-in-law, Tate, used to date. Always a sore subject for Jared, even though Ben is a great guy and tips my staff well. It took him a long time to find someone, but now he and his wife have four kids and they’re great customers. I like anyone who keeps Jared nervous.
I park my bike off to the side and let her follow me in.
“Do you have the schedule for the crawl?” she asks.
“Right here.” I pat the counter with the schedule of festivities taped to the surface. “Eagle Point, the mayor’s house, High Street, Camp Blackhawk, and Fallstown.”
I memorized the BBQ Crawl because I’m supplying food to two of the stops. Opening the cooler in the kitchen, I walk inside and reach on a shelf for one of her orders.
“Is your brother bussing the drinkers?” she shouts.
“Of course.” I pull out the cupcakes and charcuterie tray filled with little desserts. “Have to make sure the fun goes on.”
“Delightful,” she coos, coming into the kitchen. “We’ll have the kids in bed after the block party here and make it in time for Adult Night Camp.”
I chuckle, loving how my brothers plan everything in a way so that the adults can act like perpetual teenagers. Like how Jax schedules the kids’ summer camp sessions so the Fourth of July falls between two. The cabins are empty of kids, and the town’s adults can come play instead.
“Well, I’ll be in bed by then,” I call out.
“You’re twenty-one now.”
I carry the two orders out of the cooler and set them down on the table. “And I can’t be drunk when I make coffee for you all in the morning,” I tell her.
“Too right.”
I lift up the cover for the treat tray.
“Quinn, wow!” She peels it back more and then opens the cupcake box. Her eyes light up, the festive flavors fragrant with fruity smells.
“Wait, there’s more,” I chirp, running back into the walk-in fridge. “Did you bring help?”
“Oh, Quinn.” She continues to gush. “This looks amazing. It’s too pretty to eat!”
My heart kicks up speed. I love hearing that tone in a customer’s voice.
I bring out another small box of just four cupcakes. “Will Brigit have that friend over today, the one allergic to strawberries?”
“Yes, but don’t worry.” She can’t take her eyes off the fruit kabobs. “I got some alternative snacks.”
Setting down the small carton in front of her, I peel back the lid and show her the four identical cupcakes to the ones I already gave her. But these are for her daughter’s friend. “No strawberries.”