Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“No.” She says this, but it’s not a firm no. “I’ll be OK.”
“How about I leave, but come back when you’re done and walk you to your car?”
Her gray eyes go bright. “You’d do that for me?”
“Sure I would.”
“Because you’re courtin’ me?” She smiles here, so I know we’ve changed subjects now and we’re on to lighter banter.
“I might be.”
“Did I just ruin it by throwing a scene?”
I turn my head, laughing a little. “Nah. You’re fine. Forget about all that for now. When do you leave work?”
“Oh, I only stay a couple hours. Then I go to McBooms for the afternoon.”
“Well, how about I grab some breakfast at the inn, come back here in two hours, and I’ll be your chaperone. Sound good?”
Rosie nods. “Thanks, Amon. I’m being a big pain in your ass today and you’re handling it quite well.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Then I get up, open the door, give Rosie Harlow one more look over my shoulder, and leave.
The Bishop Inn is just a couple blocks away and when I get there it’s not too busy, so I bother Jessica, part owner and front-desk manager, for a notepad and pen and then take a seat in the dining room near the window where I still have a good view of Rosie’s place.
I hadn’t planned on spending my whole morning in Bishop, but I’m concerned about these letters she’s getting. More concerned than I let on. Stalkers are unstable people. They come in a few types, all of which I’m familiar with since Edge specializes in political clients. People stalk others for three reasons: Rejection, predation, and ideology.
I very much doubt that Rosie is being stalked by some anti-Revival zealot. It’s more likely that this is a past boyfriend. If it’s not a past boyfriend, then it’s a predator. Which is the absolute worst kind because they are not actually interested in Rosie, but how Rosie makes them feel, and that makes them unstable. At least the other two reasons for stalking are understandable.
Predation is… well, a hunt. Which makes the stalked nothing but prey.
At any rate, I’m gonna get to the bottom of it. And while I do that, I’m gonna make her an Edge client.
Now that that’s over, I turn my attention back to the original reason I came into Bishop this morning in the first place. Which was to insert myself into Rosie’s life by writing up a personal ad.
I look down at the empty pad of paper, trying to get my thoughts together. Robust and Hearty is my baseline, but when a man decides to court a woman, he can’t just give his baseline. He needs to amplify that shit.
So I begin, startin’ and stoppin’ dozens of times over the next hour as I pick at my breakfast. I am not a writer, let alone a poet, but eventually I am content with the words I have managed to string together.
Jessica gives me an envelope with the Bishop Inn logo on it on my way out, and as I walk back over to the Bishop Busybody, I seal it up with my note inside.
Rosie is standing at the printing press wearing an apron when I arrive. Her hair’s a little bit disheveled and her brow is glistening from effort, even though all the downtown shops have AC—this one included.
Historical accuracy only matters if people are comfortable. No one likes to be too hot and no one likes to be too cold. That was a lesson this town learned early. So Bishop said yes to the air conditioners the same way Disciple said yes to garden-party fashion.
It’s not authentic, but no one cares.
“I’m just about done, Amon. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Take your time.” I lean on the counter and place my envelope in front of me.
Rosie glances over, squinting in suspicion. “What’s that? You didn’t find another letter—”
“No, no.” I put a hand up. “This one’s from me. I just wrote it while I was having breakfast.”
Rosie’s furrowed brow straightens right out and she smiles. “You wrote a letter? To me?”
“Well, kinda.”
“What’s that mean, Amon?”
“It’s…” I grin. Because it’s clever. Not just a little bit clever, either. But like actually fuckin’ clever. “It’s an ad. I want to place an ad.”
Rosie laughs. I don’t even think she means to, it just comes bursting out. “Here?” She points to the ground. “With the Bishop Busybody?”
“That’s right.”
“You do understand we don’t do ‘help wanted’ here?”
“I do.”
“We don’t do ‘for sale’ either.”
“Rosie, I promise, it’s publication appropriate.”
She laughs again, then starts wiping her hands on her apron as she makes her way over to the counter. “You want to put in a lonely hearts ad?”
“Yep.” I’m trying my best to keep a straight face, but it’s not working out for me. I’m grinning pretty big.
She picks up the envelope. “Can I open it?”