Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
And yes—understanding finally dawns in Nash’s eyes. He straightens his muscular shoulders and holds out a hand to me. “I’ve come to win you back!”
“Give me strength,” says Grandma, who apparently decided to join us.
Sabrina stares at Nash with so much bewilderment. Just all the uncertainty in the land.
“Whatever it takes,” continues Nash.
“So you’re willing to start talking about your feelings?” asks Carmen, who runs tonight’s food truck with her husband. Their marriage is going through a rocky period. She and I may have cried together in the bathroom last night.
“Yes!”
Carmen narrows her gaze on him. This one-word response has not best pleased her.
“I have feelings. Lots of feelings,” says Nash in a rush. “And I’m going to talk about them in depth from now on. Just nonstop expressing my emotions and stuff.”
“It’s time to learn how to cook,” says Rose. They’re about my age with white skin, a mullet, and wicked cocktail mixing skills. “I mean, you’re a grown adult. You really should know the basics.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Buy a calendar and write down her birthday,” orders Mac. “There’s no excuse for forgetting it.”
Nash nods fervently.
“No more calling her ‘bro’ either.”
“Got it,” says Nash. “Bro is right out.”
“Same goes for ‘dude,’” yells someone else.
“Do you really not believe in reading books?” asks Carter, with much judgement.
“I’m going to read so many books,” says Nash. “I promise you.”
“No eating the last piece of cake.” This wisdom comes from a voice behind me. “You have to share that shit.”
“And say ‘bless you’ when she sneezes,” adds someone else.
I sigh. “It’s the polite thing to do.”
“Agreed.” Nash looks around. “Think I better make a list. Does anyone have paper and pen?”
Rose passes him an order pad and pen.
“Stop leaving the toilet lid up,” says Carmen.
“Oh. That annoys the crap out of me.” Sabrina, at long last, joins in. “There’s no need to chew so loud either. And no one eats pizza with a knife and fork. What the heck is wrong with you?”
“You’re so right. I see now that it’s animal behavior.” Nash’s note-taking continues. “I’ve got the calendar, reading, sneezing, eating the cake, learning to cook…”
“No calling her bro,” says Mac.
“Don’t forget to express your feelings.” Carmen crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s probably the most important one. Make sure you underline it.”
Nash does as told. “Wow, Junebug, you really processed your pain from these emotional wounds in the warm and loving arms of this community. Can I just say how brave and beautiful that is?”
“And boozy,” adds Grandma unnecessarily.
“What else was there?” asks Rose.
“Use punctuation when you’re texting,” says an old man sitting at the end of the bar, slumped over a bottle of beer. He has to be a hundred years old, at least. There had to have been someone in this bar last night who didn’t hear me bitching about my ex. No idea who, however.
“Punctuation when texting.” Nash’s keeps on writing. “You know, some people would find a few of these to be…oh, I don’t know…petty? But I see them as being a super-helpful roadmap back to my true love’s heart.”
“And that’s the right attitude to have,” I say with a smile.
Grandma clears her throat and says, “That’s quite the list of things for you to fix. Are you quite sure you want to stay in town?”
“Give the boy a chance, Audrey,” says Mac in his gruff voice.
She snorts. “The boy is a thirty-five-year-old man.”
“Yeah.” Rose smiles. “But he really seems to want to change.”
“Perhaps,” says Grandma. “You’ve come an awfully long way, Nash. I just worry they might be missing you at home. Aren’t you sad to be without your friends and the life you left behind?”
“Nope.” His face is pure confidence. “Here with you and June…I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”
CHAPTER THREE
We don’t sleep together again. Nash spends the night in the third bedroom on a blowup bed. Grandma had it delivered, just in case he decided to stay. I am not disappointed to wake up alone. It’s a possible awkward moment avoided. No need for worrying about morning breath or bed hair around an overly attractive person with a large social media presence and an even bigger bank account.
Last night was weird. Having him at my mercy. Pretending we’d been a couple. It’s important I don’t let it go to my head. I had a stern talk with myself in the shower about how romance sucks and feelings are wrong and unnecessary. And to be brutally honest, solo sex is usually more satisfying.
There’s no sign of Grandma or Nash, since it’s only eight am. I put my hair in a ponytail, did my makeup, and dressed in my favorite dark blue jeans, a pair of flat silver sandals, and a white tank. Sheer coincidence on the part of my playlist for music by Aaron Porter to be on while I do my prep. Then I walk the couple of blocks to Main Street for my favorite coffee. It’s not far, and my car started making strange clanking and grinding noises during the last couple of hours on the long journey here. I need to talk to Mac the mechanic, sometime.