Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
I’m using my employee discount every day to hoard as many balls as possible until I have to move on.
I grab a few shades of turquoise, beige, and yellow and make my way to the specialty scissors.
“Autumn?” A shrill voice I can’t wait to forget stops me dead in my tracks. “Autumn, is that you?”
Ugh, Julie. I turn around, taking in the sight of her pushing her stroller.
“I thought that was you!” She smiles. “I can’t believe I caught you during work hours. I came in to buy my Daniel a wooden truck as a reward for not pooping on my floor this week. Exciting, isn’t it?”
“It’s truly riveting.”
“I was thinking that since you and Nate are doing so great that I could come by sometime and help you plan an extra little anniversary surprise.”
“I gave him his extra anniversary surprise a little while ago.”
“Well, maybe—”
“It was divorce papers.” I smile. “I’m a weak and pathetic woman who is walking away from her terrible, dead marriage.”
“What?” She looks as if she’s ashamed to be near me. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t do that. You made me think that you were on track to be a good person and remain as one of my married friends.”
“Well, now I think that you should fuck off and worry about your own marriage,” I say. “Between focusing on your son’s literal shit and trying to get out of the house anytime you can, something tells me the state of your life may need a second look.”
She sucks in a breath and glares at me, pushing her stroller past me and taking a parting elbow shot.
I don’t bother retaliating.
I head toward the paint aisle and stop at the sight of the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.
Mister R is standing in front of the canvases, looking as if he’s been waiting for me. He’s dressed down today—trading in a custom suit for a pair of dark blue jeans and a white T-shirt that clings to his muscles in all the right places.
A black tattoo snakes along his inner right arm, and as much as I want to step close to decipher it, I can’t help but get lost in the sea of his eyes again.
All the yarn in my hand suddenly tumbles to the floor, and he picks the balls up one by one, keeping his eyes on mine as he places them on the shelf.
Just like in the bathroom weeks ago, we stare at each other for several moments in silence. The tension and yearning between us is even more palpable than it was before.
“Hello, Autumn,” he says, finally.
“Do I need to file a restraining order?” is all I can think to say.
“Probably.” He smiles. “I tend to research and follow up on the things I like.”
“And if one of those ‘things’ doesn’t like you back?”
“I’m pretty sure this one does.”
Silence.
“I haven’t seen you hiding behind any stop signs or following me on my route home lately,” he says, taking the lead. “I was beginning to think that you’d forgotten about me.”
“I actually have forgotten.” My cheeks heat as he moves closer. “I move on pretty fast these days. Who are you again? Better yet, how did you already know my name?”
He smiles a perfect set of pearly whites, but he doesn’t say anything further.
“Autumn to the front for cashier shift!” The owner suddenly calls over the speakers. “Autumn, can you come to the front so I can take my smoke break?”
I turn away from Mister R and make my way to the front, stopping at the edge of the counter.
When I turn around, he’s right behind me and I’m inhaling the intoxicating scent of his cologne.
“If you’re not here to buy anything,” I pause, unable to think clearly with him standing this close to me, “I have a job to do.”
“I’m here to get something repaired by the luthier.” He points to the black violin case on the counter. “I would like him to restring and repair a crack by early next week, if possible.”
“The luthier is a she. I mean, it’s me,” I say, and he looks somewhat impressed. “Instrument turn-ins are weekends only.”
“I think I’m more than worthy of an exception.”
“Because you think I’m attracted to you?”
“No, I already know that you are,” he says, looking me up down. “It’s because there’s no one else in this store at the moment. Unless you want to count the bobbleheads by the register.”
I blush and snap the sides of the case open, coming face to face with a beautiful maestro old spruce Stradivari—an advanced player’s violin.
Running my hand along its maple side, I notice the rough and familiar engravings on the edge.
For A.R.
From E.R.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand at full attention.
I repaired a different crack in this violin over a year and a half ago; my very first fix.