Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
He pulls me into a quick hug and smiles. “Good. That makes me feel better.”
“What does?” Branch asks, walking back in the room.
“Nothing. See you two later.” Finn tosses me a final look before nodding to Branch as he walks out. The front door opens and closes, and immediately, the air shifts and pulls.
Branch sits back down at the table, having changed into a pair of soft, faded jeans and a plain white t-shirt. “So, what’s the plan tonight?”
“Don’t you have contracts?” I ask, sitting down and pulling the newspaper up in front of me.
“No. I just told him that so he would leave. I got them done days ago, before I ever came up here.” He flicks the paper, making it pop. “They still have printed papers up here?”
“Yes. Isn’t it sweet? A man brings it to the end of the driveway every afternoon. Finn must’ve brought it up.”
I scan the front page, the headlines all centering around the Linton County Water Festival. Pictures of carnival rides, horseshoes, food trucks, and bands performing on the bed of a semi-truck span the entire first three pages.
Suddenly, I get an idea.
Setting the paper down, I look at Branch. “When was the last time you went to a carnival?”
“A what?”
“You know, with rides and elephant ears and lemon shake-ups?”
“High school?” he guesses. “Maybe? Maybe middle school. I don’t know. Why?”
I scoot my chair back and grin. “Get ready. We’re going to the Linton County Water Festival.”
“We are not.”
“Yes, we are,” I giggle.
“Why?” he groans. “Those things are for kids, not adults.”
“Okay,” I tease. “When did you become an adult?”
He dips his chin and looks at me through his lashes. “Really, Sunshine?”
“Oh, come on. Stop being difficult,” I say, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. “Go get a hat and whatever else you need and let’s go.”
He tries to have a standoff with me, but it doesn’t last long. Before I’m even close to giving up, he stomps up the stairs. “God, you’re infuriating.”
“Just get your stuff and get back down here and no one will get hurt.”
Branch
“You have that all over your face.” I brush a spattering of cinnamon and sugar off her chin. “If we weren’t in public, I’d just lick this off you.”
“Good thing we’re in public then,” she says, bringing the plate to her lips. She tears off a huge piece of cooked dough and shoves it into her mouth. “You’re good, but not this good.”
“If you weren’t so pretty, watching you would be disgusting,” I laugh.
She shrugs, not giving a fuck what I think.
We stroll through the park, where the Water Festival is in full-force. White Christmas lights are strung over the street that’s been shut down for the occasion. Vendors hawking trinkets line the right side, food stands fill the left. Up ahead is a bank of games and carnival rides and one very loud cover band that’s doing a shitty job of covering classic country music. It’s kind of amazing.
The air smells of fried food and is filled with laughter and music. It reminds me of being a kid and the music festivals in Tennessee. I’d start begging to go right after school, and if I was lucky, we’d trek down there on Friday night for a few hours of running amok.
Layla takes a few steps off the road and dumps the remaining elephant ear into the trash can. She pauses to help a little boy get a red balloon out of a tree, the string a touch too high for the kid to retrieve. She stands on her tip-toes, halfway hopping into the air until she comes down with the end and holds it triumphantly out to the boy.
Watching her interact so easily with the child, just as easily as she did with the veteran that welcomed us into the festival, is a sight to behold. She talks to them like they’re old friends, and by the time they’re through, they probably are.
She saunters back my way, dressed in a pale purple summer dress that hits just above her knee. She could fit right into this little town as another PTA member or woman working the table for the local church. She could fit right in, but she’d stick out. She’s the most beautiful woman here.
Before I can really do much damage with my imagination, she reaches me. “You having fun yet?”
“Oh, I’m having a ball,” I sigh.
“You love it. You know you do.”
“Yeah, maybe I don’t hate it.” Glancing down, she’s looking up at me with a knowing smirk. “Fine. It’s fun. All right? You happy?”
“Yup.”
“Good because—”
“Lemon shake-ups,” she breathes, her eyes twinkling. “Come on, Branch. I need one.”
“You do not. You just ate a pound of dough smothered in sugar. If you have any more, you’ll go into diabetic shock.”
She stops in her tracks and very carefully lifts her chin. “Tell me again I don’t need one.”