Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“I would handle it.” He rolls his eyes, and I laugh. “Do you want to switch it up?” His eyes go to me, then to the four women sitting at the bar, laughing at something.
“No.” I shake my head. “The last thing we need is for you to—”
“I’m not doing anything.” He feigns innocence. “I’m just trying to help you out.”
“Be a doll”—I fake smile at him—“help me out by going back and checking on your tables and getting more orders.”
He taps the bar top for a couple of seconds before grabbing his tray and turning on his way.
I walk to the far end of the bar. “Are you good?” I ask a couple of men who came in and sat together. They let me know they are in town for the week for some convention or something in the next town over, but all the hotels were booked.
“I’ll take another one of the house blends,” the man says, lifting to finish the rest of his glass, “neat.”
“Will do.” I grab his glass while the guy next to him says he’s fine.
I step to the group of four girls, who have been drinking white wine this whole time. “Can I get you guys anything else?” I ask them with a smile on my face.
“We were thinking of trying some of the whiskey,” the blond one says, “but we don’t like anything strong.”
“Give me a second,” I tell them, going over to fill the other order before returning to them.
“I have something,” I tell them. “It’s a blackberry mint mojito, but instead of rum, it’s bourbon.”
“Oh,” the brunette chirps, “let’s try it. Can we do a taste sample of it?”
“You sure can.” I nod at them, going over to the shaker and filling it with blackberries, mint, sugar, and bourbon, before covering it and shaking it well. I take the cover off and strain it into four little tasting glasses. I turn and place them in front of the women, who look at the drink that turned pink because of the blackberries being shaken. “Let me know what you think.”
I feel him before I see him. My heart rate picks up, and my stomach tightens. I turn to the side, watching him lean against the side of the bar where Brady was just standing. I watch the women pick their glasses up, and then one of them looks over at Charlie, and her eyes light up. I mean, I’m not surprised. He was always turning heads whenever we walked into the room. “He’s a tall glass of water,” the woman states, bringing the glass to her lips, and her friends laugh at her.
“I don’t think that’s how it goes.” The blonde shakes her head. “You’ve been in this town for a day, and all of a sudden, you are country.”
“It’s been thirty-six hours,” she fights back, “and I’m moving here.”
I just stand here folding my arms over my chest. “You know, they don’t have one drive-through coffee shop,” the third woman says, “and I checked to order something last night and it said unavailable.” She puts her hand on her chest, thinking about the horror of it. The four of them have driven down from New York to see, as they said, the South. I don’t even know what that means but I do know if any of them think they are going to move here, it’ll be over in three days… tops. She puts the glass to her lips and takes a sip of it. “Oh, this is good.” She finishes it. “So refreshing and it’s not strong.” The rest of them take a sip and they all open their eyes.
“Oh, I’ll have one like that.” I nod at them as they all order one before turning and walking to where I was making the drink, which is right next to Charlie.
I look at him, taking a deep breath in. “I’ll just be a minute,” I say, rinsing out the shaker and not looking at him. I make four of the drinks and hand them to the women. “Cheers, ladies.” I smile, trying to tell myself that it’s going to be fine.
I walk back over to him, and now he’s leaning on one elbow on the bar. “Hey,” I say to him, “what can I get you?”
“Hey,” he tosses back, “nothing. I was just coming to see how you are.”
His words shock me so much I have to blink my eyes a couple of times. “Hey, Charlie,” Brady says, coming up to his side, “do you need anything?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Just talking to Autumn.” I’m not the only one shocked by this, so is Brady; it’s no surprise to anyone that Charlie hates me. It’s especially not a surprise to Brady, who ran interference when he showed up at my house two days after I moved out. A conversation I have yet to know what was said, nor did I want to know.