Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Six foot four and some change,” he answered as he opened the door with his free hand.
You know, the one that wasn’t currently pinning mine to his chest.
“Thank you,” I whispered as I walked inside.
The bright sunlight from outside made it impossible for my eyes to adjust immediately when we entered the darkened pub. But the moment they did, I gasped.
“Holy shit!” I breathed. “This is like a real Irish pub.”
Truth chuckled at my back and moved me forward, finally letting go of me, but not for long.
Settling his hand on the small of my back, he guided me forward to a hostess stand.
He didn’t stop, though.
Instead, he grabbed his own drink menu, a couple of kids coloring mats, two sets of crayons, and showed me to a table all on his own.
“You’re allowed to just seat yourself here?” I asked in confusion.
The pub wasn’t empty. In fact, I would say it was almost packed.
Every single table except for a booth on the far west wall, and a couple of tables interspersed throughout the room, were taken.
He led me to the bar, though.
There was a little section with high top tables and stools to the side of it that was set apart from the rest of the restaurant. It was closer to the kitchen—which was quite noisy. It wasn’t the most ideal place, nor one that I would’ve picked on my own.
But this was his favorite restaurant, so I bowed down to his desires. Even if they were unorthodox.
“Yep,” he finally answered as he pulled my stool away from the bar top. “I know the owner.”
“So…” I said the moment he sat down. “Your real name is Ernest?”
Truth’s eyes narrowed.
“I wasn’t kidding about sharing that,” he informed me. “If it gets out, I know just who to come to when I hear it.”
I held up my hand in the universal sign of promise. “Vulcan’s honor.”
He snorted and picked up the menu.
“What are you getting?” I asked. “Since it’s your favorite restaurant and all.”
“The special,” he answered. “I was just trying to see what there was for an appetizer. I can hear your stomach growling from all the way over here.”
I grinned.
“I started these shake/meal replacement type things a few weeks ago, and I drink it for breakfast and sometimes lunch if I’m having a bad day,” I explained. “This’ll be the first time I’ve gone out to eat since I started them. I’ll have to try to eat healthy.”
Truth grunted something unintelligible, and before I could ask him what that grunt was supposed to mean, an old man who looked to be in his mid-seventies walked up to the table and placed his large, frail hand on top of Truth’s head.
“There’s my boy,” the old man said.
His voice was still loud and boisterous, despite his hunched over position and frail body.
And now that I was looking at him, I could see the resemblance between the two men.
It must be his grandfather. Their ears were exactly the same, and you could really tell seeing as Truth shaved his head, and the old man had no hair to speak of.
The old man, however, did have an amazing beard. One that hung nearly all the way down to his navel.
It was snow white on the top, and faded from white to grey to black at the ends.
It was the most unusual beard I’d ever seen, and I found myself wanting to sneak my phone out of my purse to send a picture to Randi.
She would definitely understand the majesty that was this beard.
“What can I get you, boy?” the old man asked.
I couldn’t place his accent.
I’d heard something similar, but I wasn’t sure if it was Irish, Scottish, or English.
It was thick at times, and not so thick at others.
“A draft, an order of cheese fries, and I’m going to have the special,” Truth answered. “What are you going to have, Very?”
I blushed and opened my menu, and chose the first thing that I saw that looked excellent.
“Uhh,” I murmured, looking at the old man who was scrutinizing me like one would a potential adversary. “I’ll have the special number two and a sweet tea, please.”
The old man nodded.
“All right, Nessie. I’ll be back.”
Then the man walked away without looking back, but did it so slowly that I worried he’d even make it to the kitchen.
I shouldn’t have worried.
He never had any intentions of going to the kitchen.
The second he reached the end of the bar, he took a seat, and then bellowed out the orders to a passing waitress, who nodded her head and went to a computer without another word.
I blinked.
Then smiled.
“That’s healthy?” he teased.
“You put me on the spot. I wasn’t sure what to order,” I shrugged. “I’m never going to be a small girl,” I finally admitted. “In fact, losing all this weight is a fluke.”