Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Coffee at 9 on me. I googled rentals online last night and found one on Spruce that looked okay. Not sure if they’d go for a short lease. Thoughts?
Crickets.
To be fair, I’d sent the text an hour ago and it was still early. Maybe he was at the gym or in the shower or already at his desk on a call. I wondered where his office was. I supposed I could just show up there.
Obnoxious much? Just a smidge.
But I needed somewhere to live, and Riley had made it sound as if The Milligan Company was the only real estate game in town. So, I’d do a little exploring while I waited.
For a born-and-bred city boy, Elmwood was like another planet. I’d only lived in places where traffic, pollution, graffiti, and sirens were part of the scenery. Don’t get me wrong, there were beautiful parts in every city I’d called home, but this was like a fucking fairy-tale land. For real.
Strangers greeted me with a wave and a friendly “good morning” on their way to the dry cleaner, the bank, or the hardware store. I smiled at the gaggle of kids skipping around the fountain and a couple walking their dog, my mood brightening with every step I took. I wasn’t nearly as sore as usual, which was an extra bonus.
Now, I just needed a large cup of coffee and for Bryson to show up.
I inhaled the scent of bread and donuts wafting from Henderson’s Bakery before pushing open the door to Rise and Grind. I took my place at the end of a line that curved at a bistro table near the front bay window. Usually, this would be where I’d pull out my cell and pass the wait by checking messages and catching up with emails. Like everyone else. Except most everyone here was chatting with each other.
I shamelessly eavesdropped on conversations about the weather, the mosquito problem at Carlton Creek, Vinnie and Nolan’s summer barbecue, Crabby Annie’s arthritis, teenagers with pre-back-to-school blues…oh yes, and the new hockey coach.
“Riley hired an AHL pro. Not sure who, but Micah’s excited,” the middle-aged woman in front of me in line said.
“I don’t think it’s official. They’ll announce it at the council meeting,” her companion replied. “If you ask me, Riley looked stressed out.”
“Poor guy. He’s taken on so much and…”
I listened with half an ear as I studied the mouthwatering baked goods in a glass display case and the menu board behind the marble counter, humming softly to the Beach Boys song piped through the overhead speakers.
“Since you are new, I will recommend the croissants or the bear claw. Both are très bon.”
I turned to the large man with reddish hair, a tidy beard, and a melodic Quebecois accent, and nodded. “Uh, okay. Thanks.”
“And definitely treat yourself to a latte,” he continued. “But don’t pay attention to the art. It’s terrible. Better than it once was, but still…not good.”
I chuckled. “Good to know. You work here?”
“No, no. I’m the chef at the diner across the street and at C’est Bon in Pinecrest.” He thrust his hand toward me. “Jean-Claude Bouchard or JC. I’m also Riley’s husband.”
“Oh!” I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. Smitty Paluchek.”
It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn a small murmur swept through the shop. Before I had a moment to digest that people here might know my name, my new friend motioned to the counter.
“Your turn, and I’m buying. Please, don’t refuse. Riley will insist.”
“Uh, okay. Thank you.”
“Good morning! And how may I help you on this fine and fabulous day?” A chipper man with dark hair, a sunny smile, and a rainbow pin on his green apron leaned on the counter.
“Since it is fine and fabulous, Smitty here must try the croissants, a chocolate and a plain. The usual for me and Riley, and three lattes.”
“Actually, make that four, please,” I intercepted. “I’m hoping to meet Bryson. Do you know him?”
“Of course. He likes lattes too,” Jean-Claude replied with a nod.
“Four lattes,” the barista said.
“Oui, and hold the penis art, s’il te plaît.”
The younger man rolled his eyes. “Hi, Smitty. I’m Ivan and if no one else has warned you, let me do the honors…JC is the worst.”
“And yet, we are the best of friends,” Jean-Claude singsonged.
Ivan snorted. “Yeah, uh-huh. Nice to meet you, and welcome to Elmwood. Court told me you were coaching at the high school this fall. And let me just say, you’re a brave soul. You couldn’t pay me enough money to willingly go back to high school or—”
“Let’s not scare the new guy away, eh?”
“Oops! My bad. You’ll love it!” Ivan ran JC’s card and smiled as he peeked over my shoulder. “Oh, and don’t freak out about the gossips. We love hockey in Elmwood, and we’re excited to have you. I’ll get that order started.”