Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Which leads me to now. I’m stepping out of my car, or attempting to, while psyching myself up for the long haul, and all I can think about is the ropes he currently has on his shoulders, one hand holding the end with a firm grip. I can’t look away. Amos isn’t looking or touching me, yet the way my body is responding, he may as well be scorching my skin, branding me with his presence alone. So, how exactly am I going to manage being in a confined space without turning into a total mess?
My qualities go a little like this: nervous, clumsy mess, hyper focused, artsy, in my own head, and when I’m in a social situation, I’m awkward at best. Ugh, I need to get out of my car and my head. Instead, I pull my phone out of my bag to check for text message. Apparently, we can add procrastinating to the list, too.
Sienna: I know you’re sitting in the car and not getting out right now.
Sienna: You can do this. I love you, and Amos is Amos. He’s the most understanding and relatable person you’ll ever meet. Besides me, of course.
Sienna: Genevieve Alexandria Strickland, are you going to answer me?
I let out a soft chuckle. She’s on a tirade of text messaging me and will not stop, even now.
Sienna: Fine, I’ll call Amos and tell him to check if you’re there.
I start typing, one word at a time, knowing full well the bubbles appearing on the other end will appease her worry wart mind for a moment. Except I hit the back space trying to come up with the right words to say and linger a little longer.
Sienna: I swear to god I’m on my way if you don’t respond.
Me: I’m here. Good grief. I’m in the process of getting out of my car. Yes, I’m working up the courage, but I promise I’m doing the damn thing.
Sienna: Good, I love you, and I’ll text later to check in on you.
Me: I love you, and let’s be honest, you’ll text me sooner rather than later.
Sienna: Okay, fine. You’re right. Now get out of the car and find Amos. You all should be leaving in the next ten minutes, and I know you. You’ve had three cups of coffee already, so you better make a pit stop along the way.
Me: Yes, Mother. Now can I proceed with my day?
Sienna: You may. Send me a text if anything juicy happens.
I don’t respond, choosing to instead roll my eyes and let out a huff and puff of my own. Damn, my best friend knows where to hit, right in the kisser, but also, the last thing I’d ever do is text her about anything that happens between her brother and me. I mean ewww, that’s her brother. Maybe the bare minimum at most.
It's make or break, now or never, and however else those sayings go. I step out of my car, finally, after what seems like forever, then close the driver’s side door and open the back passenger one to grab my oversized bag along with my small rolling suitcase. Maybe I should have brought a bag instead. No way will the wheels make it through the rough and rugged terrain down by the barn. Looks like I’ll be carrying it down to where Amos has the truck parked. The trailer is already hooked up, and from what I can see, he’s just about done.
I fling my purse over my shoulder, grab my bag by the handle on the side, and then click the key fob to lock my door as I use my hip to bump it shut. The reason for my gracefulness in this maneuver is an act of strength and perseverance with a dash of not overthinking the situation. I start my trek from the house, being careful of the pea gravel that makes up the driveway from the house to the barn. The road leading up to the house is dirt, and right about now, I kind of wish the whole path had an easier walkway. As it is now, even with the flat-soled sneakers I’m wearing, I’ll be lucky to keep steady footing.
My eyes move from the ground to Amos. He takes notices and starts heading my way, but I shake my head. I’m good. I place one foot in front of the other, and while he’s not heeding my warning, I keep going.
“Oh no.” When I feel the ground beneath my foot form some kind of hole, my ankle does a wobble and my arms go out to stabilize myself. Bad idea. Huge mistake. My carry-on luggage proves to be too heavy with my arm flailing around like a baby bird. My fingers release their hold just as my ass is about to meet the ground and suffers the same fate as my bag.