Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
With a red blanket covering his legs and the wispy remnants of his once-full head of hair sticking straight up, Dad looked too thin, too tired, too small. But his potent, no-BS stare still spoke volumes.
“What about the hockey player?”
“What about him?”
“C’mon, Hank.” He circled his wrist impatiently. “I’m old and I’m dying. Don’t leave me hanging.”
I furrowed my brow. “That’s not funny.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just tell me what he said today.”
“Nothing much. I’d mentioned my work with Bess, and Denny thought that was interesting and wanted to meet her. This isn’t a quick sell, Dad. He’s not a professional actor or model, he’s an athlete. This is going to require some finesse since I’m not going through his agent.”
“Hmm. Do you think he’ll do the ad?”
I considered the question for a moment and nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
Dad smacked his hand on the arm of his wheelchair. “Well done! Endorsements bring followers, employees, and good will. Mark my words, this is the beginning of a success story.”
“Success story” was pushing it, but my outlook on life in the Four Forest area had improved by a thousand percent recently. I knew change wouldn’t come fast or easy, but I had Denny Mellon in my back pocket. The fact that he might not physically be in town for another month didn’t bother me. I had an ally.
Now, I had to learn a little something about this place. Not just the mill, the whole area.
Starting with Elmwood.
I’d already done the Google search. Population, history, and topography didn’t give me enough info, but in case you’re interested…population had increased over the past decades in all four towns, thanks in part to the hockey boom. The first settlers arrived in the 1700s, and were most likely hunters. The area was still covered in forest, with gorgeous hillsides, and sweeping panoramic views of Lake Norman and the picturesque New England townships.
No, this wasn’t Colorado, but it was beautiful too, I mused as I drove the winding road into Elmwood.
I eased my truck into a parking space near the fountain on Main Street and turned off the engine, absently watching a couple sitting on a bench sipping coffee and a gaggle of preschool age kids skipping while their parents chatted nearby.
On a whim, I scrolled to Denny’s contact info. If you were new in Elmwood, what would you order at the bakery?
He replied immediately. A maple cookie, but do NOT get into a big discussion with my grandmother. If she’s there, introduce yourself. That’s it.
You’re extremely bossy for someone who’s two thousand miles away, I typed, my lips curled in amusement.
That’s cuz I know what I’m talking about. Be cool.
I sent him an animated ice cube gif. Any other tips? Town specialties, things to do, people to avoid?
Ivan makes a mean latte at Rise and Grind. Everything at the diner is delicious, especially the burgers and poutine. Say hi to JC and Nolan. If you’re interested, there’s good hiking near the lake. Meet the coaches if you can…Vinnie, Riley, Court, Ronnie. There’s a movie theater in Pinecrest, sledding in Fallbrook if there’s still snow, and you should check out the bookstore. Just don’t be weird around MK. People to avoid: my grandmother.
My cheeks hurt from smiling now. Wow, you wrote me a book. Don’t pro hockey players work for a living?
Ha. Ha. I’m at the gym. Just got out of the shower.
Oh! What are you wearing?
A towel, perv. You?
I looked down at my ensemble. Jeans, a sweater, and a jacket.
I’m not sure where to go with that.
Me either. I chuckled.
Later. Watch out for Grams. She will eat you alive.
On that note, I stepped out of the truck, tipped my chin in greeting to a passerby, and strode purposefully toward Henderson’s Bakery.
The bell above the door chimed and a pretty middle-aged woman with bobbed blond hair and a sunny smile glanced up from the pastries she was arranging in a pink box.
“Good afternoon. What can I get for you?”
I wasn’t a huge sweet eater, but damn, this place smelled amazing. I perused the selection of cookies, cupcakes, fruits tarts, and breads, lingering on the chocolate éclairs.
A core memory resurfaced out of the blue: I was four years old, standing in a bakery with my face pressed against the glass, my mom’s hand on my shoulder, telling me I could choose one thing. Anything I wanted. I chose an éclair.
“Uh…” I snapped back to reality and homed in on the cookies shaped like maple leaves, drizzled with icing. “I heard the maple cookies are fantastic.”
The woman nodded graciously. “They’re our signature specialty, first made by my husband’s great great-great grandparents a hundred or so years ago. Other than adding icing options, we’ve stuck to the original recipe, so yes…they’re worth a try for sure.”
“Great. I’ll take two, please. And…an éclair.”
“You got it.” She grabbed a small box and a pair of tongs for the éclairs. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?”