Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
She didn’t wait for an answer before she walked over to where Jessie stood behind the counter.
Just as the woman’s husband—a big man with a name tag that read, JB, JB’s Auto Repair—introduced himself and offered his hand to shake, the door chimed again.
And then again, and again.
One by one, sometimes twos, people strolled in. Some stared through the window, others exchanged some pleasantries while Royal perused the clothes, others held conversations with Jessie, all while sneaking glances in his direction.
Royal’s anxiousness and discomfort increased with each new set of eyes that widened with wonder. Or was it curiosity…or confusion?
A buff guy dressed like a farmer—tall, rugged, with a full gray beard to match his thinning gray hair—walked right up to him with unapologetic boldness.
“So you’re the urbanite everyone’s going on about.” He thrust out a hand caked with dirt that looked ingrained in his skin. “I’m Hank, but everyone calls me Big Hank. I own the tackle and feed store at the corner of Main and Oak Knoll Avenue.”
Royal clasped Hank’s big palm and returned the firm shake.
“If you need anything, anything at all, you just swing on by. I got a small garden behind my shop, grows the best cabbages, some as big as my head, and I got carrots this season that are about ten inches long.” Hank held his hands in front his barrel chest, about thirty inches apart from each other. “Lie to you not.”
Royal had no clue why he’d need any tackle, feed, or big-ass carrots, but he nodded nonetheless. “Sure thing, Hank.”
“Big Hank to you, son. That’s what all my friends call me.”
Jessie, ever the considerate host, made his way around the store, seeming unbothered by the swarm of visitors. Every now and then he’d give Royal a little nod of encouragement as if he knew just what was going on in his head.
Haul ass was what he was screaming in the back of his mind.
“You’ll get used to it,” Jessie said when he came over, carrying an armful of merchandise. “Here, try these on for size.”
Jessie helped him out of his coat, that after today would go in the back of the closet in his room at the bed and breakfast, then handed Royal a few shirts he’d picked, perhaps assuming they was more his taste.
They kinda were.
Cotton high-collared shirts, fleece-lined Henleys, and a heavy, knee-length overcoat, all in solid colors, neutrals, gray, black, muted greens and burgundy, zero shirts with checkered patterns or flannel material.
Royal escaped into the one dressing room stall while Jessie waited outside.
“Don’t be overwhelmed here, Royal. The people are friendly and will go out of their way to help anyone, even a stranger. That’s just how it is here. Visitors always bring with them a uniqueness that’s all their own, that brightens our small place in the world.” Jessie paused and took a short breath. “Now, I don’t know how long you’ll be visiting, or if you plan on staying. You’re buying clothes, so I assume a while. We’re all just looking forward to what your unique qualities will be. And before you try to convince yourself that you won’t bring anything, sometimes just a person’s presence is plenty enough, son.”
Royal had wrapped the heavy parka tight around himself as he listened to Jessie’s words.
All this time he’d been thinking there was no way he’d fit in here.
But maybe if he stopped thinking of running and just sat still for a while, perhaps he would.
Ten minutes later Royal came out of the dressing room, a slight smile curving his lips.
“I’ll take it all,” he said.
Jessie winked. “Good for you.”
Royal
Royal was struggling to make his way back to the bed and breakfast with both arms loaded down with shopping bags. He should’ve driven.
He still had a couple of blocks to go when two men who looked around his age, abandoned the fence they’d been building and rushed over to him.
In New York, that would’ve been the time to drop his shit, toss his wallet into the air and run for his life—he was about to be robbed.
Instead the guys began to take some of the bags off his forearms.
“Let us help you out with those, it looks like you’re struggling, the shortest one offered with bright green eyes and an easy smile.
“I’m good, I got it,” Royal claimed automatically.
“Bullshit, you tripped twice when you crossed the street just now.” One of them laughed loudly, reaching and lifting some of the bags off his forearm, “and you still got a little ways to go to the Pines.”
“I’m Mark, and that’s Ben. You’re Royal, right?”
Royal hid his smirk behind his hand, shaking his head in disbelief. He was in a gosh-damn parallel universe.
“I know what you’re thinking, word sure travels fast.” Mark noted. “My aunt is Mrs. Pearl and Jojo is my baby sister.”