Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“What? But… but I don’t need a mechanic?” Did I? Was this some kind of mechanic shakedown? Was Amos Nutter the mafia?
“You need this mechanic. He’s got fuel injectors for days, if ya know what I mean.” He’d wiggled his eyebrows and popped his tongue meaningfully.
Even I couldn’t pop my tongue.
“Wait… you mean…Is he…? Are you trying to…?”
“Elmer’s a young, gay Adonis,” Amos had assured me. “In fact, lotsa folks say he’s the spittin’ image a’me when I was that age, sooo.” He’d smoothed back his thinning hair and grinned so widely his teeth nearly fell out. “Whaddya say? You wanna take him for a test drive?”
“I say… um… no, thank you? Sir, are you on any medications, or…?”
He’d sighed. “Ah, well. Cain’t say I didn’t try.”
But he didn’t move. And he was breathing really, really close to my face.
“Mr. Nutter…”
“I might could use an assist, as it happens, Doc,” he admitted finally. “Hip’s locked up for real this time. Could you maybe…?”
When I’d finally gotten him settled on a bench to wait for his son to come fetch him and gotten him an appointment with the chiropractor in Pecker Lurch for his trick hip, I’d needed coffee more desperately than ever before.
“Iced coffee, please, Fee?” I’d begged. “The biggest one you’ve got.”
After paying, I’d gone to take my place in the line to get my drink.
“Well, hey, there, Doc Wright.” Lurlene Jackson’s use of blue eyeliner had been as on point as ever. “Don’t you look a mite frazzled?”
“Just a bit,” I agreed. “Thoughtful of you to point it out.”
“Poor thing. You need a man to look after you,” she’d said sympathetically. “Someone who’ll make you coffee at home.”
I’d given her a half-smile because heck yeah, that was exactly what I needed.
She’d taken a step closer, until she was invading the personal space Amos Nutter had so recently vacated, then glanced left and right before whispering, “So, do you like it… vanilla?”
“Oh.” I’d frowned. “Uh. No. More of a hazelnut guy, I guess? Though some days, like today, I just want it straight. And the bigger the better, you know?”
Her eyes went wide. “Really?” she’d tittered, clutching her imaginary pearls. “Why, Doc Wright, you sly dog!”
“Huh?”
But Lurleen had already collected her coffee and left with a little curled-finger wave.
“Fee,” I’d demanded, after she handed me my coffee and I’d taken my first grateful sips. “Do you have any clue what’s gotten into people the last couple days? Everyone’s acting weird.” Which was saying something, considering what the baseline was around here.
“Not really.” She’d shrugged. “Just trying to win the prize, I guess.”
“Prize.”
She’d nodded. “You know, the prize folks are offering for finding you your perfect match?” She counted off on her fingers. “Free soft drinks for a month at the Tavern. Free Doc Wright Triple Chocolate Heartbreak Cake at Annie’s. Free lube job over at Levon’s—but frankly I think Levon just threw that in there to drum up business… Uh… let’s see…”
I held up a hand. “Got it. Thanks. That’s… real helpful. I understand now.”
I understood that I’d inadvertently, unwillingly become a contestant in a dating show, where my friends and neighbors were competing to find me a boyfriend, and now instead of trying to convince one well-meaning doofus to back off, I now had to convince four dozen. Or more.
And what’s more, Annie’s Bakery had named their heartbreak cake after me.
I’d stalked out of the cafe and down the street to my house before the penny had dropped.
Vanilla, not as in coffee but as in…
Oh, fuck. And I’d told her I was a hazelnut? What the hell had I just confessed to?
More to the point, what the hell had my former best, best friend gotten me involved in?
I’d called Vienna and told her to have Jenn cancel my afternoon appointments, then I’d immediately gotten in my car.
Suddenly nowhere was safe. I couldn’t be in town. I went stir-crazy staying up in my living area all by myself when I could practically see the ghost of Dunn sprawled on my sofa. And Lord knew I couldn’t be in my office because literally every time I walked past Jenn, she narrowed her eyes, snapped her gum, and started talking about how she and Dunn had a date on Saturday.
She reminded me of the singing fish plaque Dunn had inherited from his great-uncle Waylon along with his fishing cabin. Billy the Bass would erupt into song and start flapping its tail anytime it sensed motion… and it only knew one song too.
I sighed. And now I was being mean to Jenn when her only real crimes were having all the equipment Dunn liked best—which I could hardly blame her for—and being jealous of Dunn—which I couldn’t blame her for either.
She was also possibly the worst receptionist anyone had ever had—how many times did a person have to be told that recommending Botox to patients was unacceptable?—and I did blame her for that, but that wasn’t why I was salty.