Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“Gran!” Tory says louder as she slaps a hand against her forehead.
“You’re sure you don’t want to join in, Granny?” I ask, laughing.
“Nope. I have to be at the center by six thirty sharp with the strawberry shortcake I promised—if Thelma’s left any decent strawberries in the store.”
“All right then,” I say, wondering why my head feels like it’s spinning. “I’ll stop by and grab Tory around seven.”
Tory turns around and stares at me wide-eyed.
“Does Tory not have a say in this?” she asks. “Or am I the only one who realizes I’m standing here and last I checked, I’m still of sound mind.” Pointing at her lime-green t-shirt, she adds, “Tory. Right here.”
“I see you, Peach,” I say, lowering my voice so her granny can’t hear. “It’s just a couple drinks and an excuse to get out. What’s the harm? Might be fun to catch up like old times. I’ll see you at seven.”
Granny grabs Tory’s arm and pulls her along in her cart’s wake.
Another glowing example of why this town respects Granny Coffey. Including me.
The woman doesn’t slow down and take a breath for anything.
I’m also not sure she’s ever taken no for an answer.
I won’t either. If there’s one thing I know about Tory, even without knowing her for years, it’s that she looks like she needs a night out as bad as I do.
Plus catching up on life without any goats hanging around ought to be fun.
With more than I bargained for in my cart, I wrap up my shopping and check out. While loading my groceries, including the avalanche of fruits and vegetables Granny dumped on me into my truck, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.
A bike.
A two-seater, with two women wearing matching bike helmets pedaling out of the parking lot.
It just falls out of me then. I laugh like a fool at how Granny’s bent over the handlebars, cycling away like she’s on the Tour de France, while Tory drags behind her.
Yeah.
One more reason she’s always been special.
Can’t think of anybody else who’d merrily go along with her grandmother’s quirkiness.
I pick Tory up at seven, and by seven twenty, we’re at the Purple Bobcat, a bar just a few miles outside of town, right off the highway.
Laughing nearly the entire way here about Granny’s antics—especially that damn tandem bike—she keeps apologizing for her grandmother forcing me to load up my fridge with plants.
I’m grateful for the distraction. Whether she knows it or not, she’s dressed to fucking kill.
First casualty being me.
The dude who’s not supposed to be casting lingering gazes at his friend.
Maybe I’m out of excuses, but you’d better believe I’ll blame it on the firefly pink she’s decked out in tonight.
It draws my eyes like magnets. I still can’t look away by the time we’re perched at our table, tall glasses of beer dripping condensation in front of us.
Her hair hangs loosely over her shoulders, down her back, and the pink highlights are the same shade as her short-sleeved sweater.
Her black jeans have pink stitching, and so do her heeled cowboy boots.
“What do you think? Granny picked out my outfit tonight,” she tells me, having caught me staring. “Believe it or not, we’re the same size.”
“I can believe it. Looks cute. Guess I’ll have to help you fight off the guys who’ll come sniffing around once the night crew rolls in. Fair warning: this town gets thirsty, girl.”
Another airy laugh falls out of her. I wonder if she senses what a liar I am.
She’s not cute.
She’s a certified destroyer of men.
I’d struggled dearly to keep my eyes on the road during the drive out here. Peeling my eyes off her ever since we sat down has been damn near impossible.
Tory gives me a smug grin and shakes her head. “I’d apologize for Gran again, but I’ve already done that—”
“Only a hundred times,” I say with a snort.
“At least.” She sighs and glances around the room while taking a sip off her glass. “So, this is the legendary Purple Bobcat. I thought it was a dive? This actually looks...serviceable.”
“Hey, duchess, it’s not that hipster crap from the Windy City, but it does the job.” I raise my glass proudly and she giggles. “You want something fancier, there’s Libations over on Main Street, but that’s more of a place for live music, special events, and family dinners. My pal, Grady McKnight, took this place over and turned it into something special. Every red-blooded man in town loves the vibe.”
“I mean, I knew it’d changed. Uncle Dean used to practically live here, always trying to glad-hand bikers and getting into trouble,” she says, fluttering her lashes at the memories. “Dad would lecture me to the nth degree every summer. Under absolutely no circumstances was I allowed to let Uncle Dean bring me here. If that happened, it was a guaranteed trip home, and he’d be very disappointed in me.”