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)
Now that I am not dressed like a prim and proper Colonial woman, I can rush through the streets without making a spectacle of myself and I land at the Bishop Inn promptly at twelve-thirty, right in the middle of the lunch rush when Bryn is in her worst mood and I am nothing but a gift from God when Jessica looks up from her hostess podium and nods her head in the direction of the kitchen. “You’re in the kitchen, Rosie.”
I wave as I pass. “I’m on it.” I’m expecting Bryn to be cussing out loud when I get to the saloon door—dirty dishes everywhere, and an atmosphere of chaos. Like it usually is. But instead, I hear laughter. Bryn’s laughter.
When was the last time I heard Bryn laugh?
I can’t remember. She’s always sour and focused.
But then I hear another laugh and this one I recognize. He brings joy everywhere he goes.
I push through the door and there he is.
Amon Parrish. Wearing light-green rubber gloves and up to his elbows in suds.
“What are you doin’ here?”
Bryn and Amon stop their joke to look over their shoulders at me.
“There you are,” Amon says.
“Here I am,” both delighted and surprised. “But…”—I make a little motion between the two of them with my pointer finger—“why are you doin’ my washin’ up?”
“He came to take your shift,” Bryn answers. “I swear, Amon Parrish, I had no idea what a romantic jerk you were. You’ve shattered all my preconceived notions that had been living in my head rent-free since you were ten years old and let two dozen frogs loose inside the Revival tent to mimic a biblical swarm.”
I chuckle because I remember that day. What a sight. Frogs jumping everywhere, tourists screaming, Jim Bob losing his mind, and it was Collin’s father who was preaching that day. He grabbed Amon up by the collar and threw him out with a swift kick to his backside.
If I remember correctly, Amon was laughing so hard, he didn’t even feel it.
Amon pulls the plug on the suds, takes off his gloves, and hangs them up on a hook. “There. All done. Now you’re free.”
“I didn’t realize the two of you were serious, Rosie!” Bryn is grinning at me from over her shoulder as she pushes some vegetables around on the grill. “You better dump whatever out-of-town rascal you’re dating and keep him. Because if you don’t”—Bryn pauses to wink at Amon—“I might steal him.”
She’s joking, I know this. But she’s also not. She’s telling me that I had better take this seriously because he’s not messing around. When a man shows up to take your shift washing dishes for the sole purpose of freeing up your time so you can spend your afternoon with him, well… that’s a whole other level of romance that goes above and beyond fucking a girl up against a wall.
Amon is looking at me when these words come out of Bryn’s mouth. He winks. “Sorry, Bryn, but she already gave in to the idea that this is goin’ somewhere. Better luck next time.”
Which makes Bryn the Buzzkill practically cackle, she’s that tickled by this new development between Amon and I. “Get out of here, you crazy kids!” Then she shakes her head and starts tossing her grilled vegetables.
Amon offers me his hand and I nearly blush when I take it. “My God, Amon Parrish. You’re something else.”
“Oh, I’ve got layers, Rosie Harlow. You’ve got no idea just how many.”
His hand is warm, but not sweaty. So he’s not nervous. But I might be. I mean, this is a serious courtin’ effort and it’s only been a week. As we make our way outside through the back door, and start heading not towards the street where he must be parked and I surely am, but into the maze, I say, “Can I ask you something, Amon?”
“Sure, Rosie. Hit me up.” We make the first left in the maze, which is the wrong way to the middle and he and I both know this.
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why me?”
“Why—Rosie? That’s a joke, right?”
“No, it’s a serious question.”
“Well, OK. I can see that I didn’t explain myself properly when all this started. And it’s probably because I was struck dumb with your many layers. That’s my excuse, anyway. So let me start over and say this: Lady, you are cute as fuck. I’m talking… like… buttons, and puppies, and smiling babies kinda cute. So that’s number one. Number two is a little bit contradictory, because don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kinda slutty at the same time, Rosie.”
I nearly come undone with laughter, that’s how much this makes me happy.
“Seriously, I don’t mean it in a bad way at all. I mean… you’re like… every man’s dream. You’re sweet in a ‘cookin’ dinner, mothering kids, keeping a home’ kinda way. But then you show up to work wearing this tantalizing halter top and last night you told me I kiss like a prince and fuck like a villain, and damn, Rosie. I mean… that right there was enough to up my interest level by a thousand. And the best part is that right now you’re wearing clothes that could be removed in a matter of seconds and an hour ago you were covered neck to toe in a dress that might take me the better part of an afternoon to get off you. Don’t even get me started about the diner uniform because I’ve had a thing for pink diner dresses since I was twelve.”