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)
The lights dangling overhead appear to make her glow. Her blonde hair shines like a halo . . . then you get to the look on her face. That’s different. That begs you to push her because she’s willing to throw back.
Not many girls are like this. Most would ask to go to a fancy restaurant or to have box seats at a concert. Lots of the women I know would have on killer heels and a face full of make-up and do whatever I said and half of what I didn’t. Not this one. I’m not one hundred percent sure she brushed her hair today. She’s an enigma, one I can’t wrap my head around quite yet.
“Get me one too,” I say finally.
“That’s what I thought.” Winking, she trots off to the stand. I stay back, hovering near a telephone pole, and watch her order two drinks. The man shaking the white plastic cups is obviously enchanted with her. He smiles too wide, leans in too close, and I’m not even sure he takes her money. But by the time she’s back to me, all I can think about is the grin she’s wearing and the way her eyes are lit up like a carnival ride.
“Here,” she says, thrusting a cup at me. “These are amazing.”
The cold, sweet, and slightly bitter drink hits my taste buds. “Wow. This takes me back.”
“This is my ‘must get’ thing at festivals,” she admits, leading me down the street. “My mom got me hooked on these as a kid. She always made my dad buy her one, even if the line took forever.”
“That was me with candy apples. I used to love the shit out of those.”
“We’re going to get you one.”
“No, we aren’t,” I laugh. “The season is getting ready to start. I can’t be eating total crap.”
As if I haven’t said a damn word, she sidles up to another stand with a green awning. “One candy apple please.”
“Sure thing, madam.”
We watch the guy pluck a cherry red apple from a tray and wrap it in plastic wrap. He hands it to Layla while I pay. She gives it to me as we walk away.
“You’ll thank me later,” she promises.
“The way your legs look in that dress, I hope so.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.”
We walk slowly through the streets, stopping for a brief minute to listen to the band and watch couples dance to the music. Everyone from little kids to old people in wheelchairs are clapping their hands, some are whistling, others are talking with the people around them.
I stand next to her and take it all in. There’s something so pure and relaxed about this that I can’t quite make it out. People don’t act this way anymore. Places don’t have this feeling of camaraderie. It’s amazing this even exists.
Then I look at her, dancing with an old man in a pair of bib overalls to an old Waylon Jennings song. She’s chatting him up as he does his best to lead her in a little circle. There’s no doubt he’s having the time of his life.
The band plays the final few notes and Layla kisses her partner on the cheek. Catching me watching, her cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink.
“Sorry,” she says. “That’s Peck’s uncle. He’s like a million years old and the sweetest old thing in the world.”
“Don’t be sorry. That was nice of you.”
“I love it here,” she sighs, looking around. “Doesn’t being here just make you feel nice?”
“That’s the sugar talking,” I joke as we start towards the games.
“It is not.”
“No, you’re right. It is nice here. I’m actually having a good time.” I bump her with my shoulder. “Thanks for bringing me.”
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “Thanks for coming.”
“Like you gave me a choice.”
“True, I didn’t. But I had a suspicion you’d like this.”
“Really? Do I come across as the guy who likes kiddie rides?” I whistle through my teeth. “I need to work on my reputation.”
It’s her that bumps me this time. “No, asshole. But you do come across as a guy who needs to be reminded every now and then that it’s okay to just chill out.”
“I chill out all the time.”
“I think you misunderstand the term ‘chill out,’” she says.
“It’s an easily understood term. I don’t think you can misunderstand it.”
She side-eyes me. “It doesn’t just mean relax or not work out for a day. It means to have fun, take it easy, you know? To kick back and enjoy yourself.”
“Well, I ‘chilled out’ a lot lately then,” I grin. “I’d like to ‘chill out’ like that again.”
“I bet you would . . .”
Stopping in the middle of the street, I shake my head. “And?”
“And what?” she giggles, turning to face me.
“And you wouldn’t?”
“I didn’t say that. I just didn’t reply.”