Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“And what do you know? I’m a fan of ten-speed rabbits,” I add boldly—no blush here.
Hazel chuckles. “Own it, girl.”
“Absolutely,” TJ seconds. “Anyway, I don’t know what the gig is, but let me know if you want me to pass on your email to Amelia. I think her band might need help with social.”
Hazel’s green eyes light up as she turns to me. “I bet that’s it. You’re so good at interacting with column readers online, so maybe they want you to interact with fans?”
It’s true I might need another side hustle. The job at Bikes and Blooms ends in a month and a half when Iris returns. If it takes me longer than that to swing a new book gig, I might need another temporary gig. Or a handful of them.
“Of course you can share my email,” I say, then thank them and take off for work. In a few minutes, I’ll see Milo again.
I wish I’d written a column on walking into work the morning after you walked out in soaked panties.
When I arrive at the shop, I pause and stare at the green door from the street. Here I go.
I draw a fueling breath and head inside. Milo’s chatting with Zara at the bike counter, his back to the door, the dog sitting politely at his feet.
“And don’t forget, we have a new shipment of bike gloves coming in today,” he says. “I’m also expecting a special order of a derailleur for the new hybrid I’m building for a bike blogger. He chronicles all his bike adventures, the trips he goes on, the pictures he takes, and I want everything to be perfect for him. Can you text me when those arrive? The custom-build business is starting to take off.” He sounds so hopeful. I’ve never heard him talk about his custom bikes like that before.
“It sure is, and I’m glad you started it last year. So I’ll tell you about your bike part if you order me lunch again,” Zara says, a brilliant negotiator.
He chuckles softly. “Never stop being a comedian.”
“Oh, I was serious. I’d like a roast beet with pesto. Yes, I said beet, not beef, because beef is gross,” she says, then her eyes land on me. “Hey, V.”
“Beets sound tasty, Zara,” I say, smiling at her, but not for her.
Milo turns in slow motion, then his gaze locks with mine. His lips curve in a slight smile and a shiver whooshes down my body. I feel all loose and bendy, and I might melt right now. If he keeps looking at me like that, Zara is going to pick up on the fuck-me eyes.
I clear my throat.
“Hi . . . Milo,” I say with an unnatural pause. Where’s a dog water-shake when you need it? “Hey, Zara,” I say, trying again to sound like I have spoken words aloud before.
“How did everything go yesterday?” she asks as she tugs a box of energy bars closer to her on the counter.
Wait. With what? With Milo slamming me against the wall? “Wh-what do you mean?” I stammer.
“With Throw Me a Bone. Did your little dude like it?” Zara asks as she grabs bars from the box to stack in a display on the counter.
“Oh, he loved it,” I say, relieved. I push my purse strap up higher on my shoulder, just to keep busy.
“It wore him out,” Milo adds, with another knowing smile slung my way.
Zara stops sorting, hands freezing on the bars. She arches a brow Milo’s way. “How do you know?”
He clears his expression, clearly realizing his mistake. “Oh. Lucky guess,” he says with a casual shrug, recovering quickly. He nods to the door. “And on that note, I’m outta here today.”
Hold on. Did he just say he’s taking off?
“You’re . . . leaving?” I ask, like I’ve never heard of the concept of departures.
Trudy stares longingly up at him, and he rewards her with a pat on the head. “There’s a bike-to-work event in the park. I promised Chet I’d help. So we need to go,” he says, gesturing to his main squeeze.
He lifts her up, then pops her into her bike seat, and waves goodbye. In thirty seconds flat, he’s wheeling her out the door.
That’s it.
That’s just it?
I stare stupidly at the door for a few seconds too long. I wasn’t expecting a sailor’s kiss, but I sure as hell didn’t think he’d skedaddle like that. And I suppose what hurts too, is I thought he’d have mentioned privately to me that he had an off-site event.
But then, I don’t know what to expect from a work tryst.
Or any tryst, for that matter.
I roll my shoulders, trying to let go of my expectations. Time to get to work. I head to the flower side of the store, setting down my purse in a cabinet.