Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Mike’s round belly shakes with his jovial laugh. “I don’t need to fit humans in there. I need to fit a whole cow. The meat’s coming tomorrow, and my chest freezer gone and died on me.”
“Well, how much meat is that?”
“Four hundred and twenty pounds.”
My jaw drops. “Who needs that much beef?”
“A cattle farmer who’s not about to pay supermarket prices.” He lifts his camo baseball hat off his brown mop of hair before putting it back on. “So, this is the biggest you got, huh? What’d you say? 24 cubic feet?” He peers up at the rafters, mumbling numbers to himself. “Yeah, that’ll work. What’s the warranty on it?”
I run through the standard Murphy’s spiel.
“Okay, sold.”
“Perfect. I’ll get started on the paperwork.”
“I’ve got it, Justine.” Ned shuffles out from the office, a hot tea in his grip, and heads toward the counter. “Mike! How’s your dad?”
“Still kickin’.”
Ned chuckles. “Aren’t we all. So, the freezer?”
“Yes, sir. Not something I was planning but don’t have a choice.”
“But you had a choice about who to come to, and we appreciate your business.” Ned caps that off with a kind smile before settling into handwriting the bill of sale.
“What’s the latest on next door?” Mike nods toward Todd’s building. “I’ve been hearing tons about all this development. Nothing good. I got three hundred acres right outside town. How long before they come knocking on my door?”
“It could happen,” Ned murmurs. “They’ve been knocking on mine.”
“There ain’t enough money in the world.” Mike snorts. “Haven’t had a chance to give Todd a piece of my mind yet.”
“Get in line for that. Better yet, head over to HG’s sales center and let them know what you think. They’re opening up in the old sewing shop any day now.” It’s comforting to see a middle-aged man taking issue with all the development. Shirley keeps lamenting that only people collecting their old-age checks care, but that’s not true.
“Is that what that is? They were peeling the paper down on my way in here.”
“Really?” I dart to the window, but of course, I can’t glean anything from this angle. “Ned?”
“Go on,” he waves. “Go on and see what you need to see.”
Rushing into my winter things, I dart outside.
Sure enough, HG’s makeshift sales office is fully lit and finished, a crisp white and red HG banner affixed where Yvonne’s Sewing Nook sign used to hang. The remodel itself is nothing fancy—freshly painted white walls, installed golden wood floors, and some new lighting—simple, but crisp and clean, far nicer than the cluttered, dated sewing shop.
Inside is sparsely furnished, with a sleek desk in the far corner for a computer and a few chairs. Most of the space is reserved for large wall prints and easels holding designs for what I assume is the new building.
Garrett and a curvy blond woman in a blue suit hover around the computer. Probably a staffer brought in from Philadelphia to sell the condo units. She has “sales” written all over her—her hips pulled back with confidence, her chin held high. Has Garrett ever whispered about methods to keep her in line if she’s been bad?
My stomach curls, feeling stupid for ever playing along with him. But, as Shirley would say, that’s beside the point.
As if sensing me on the street, Garrett’s head snaps up and he zeroes in on me. He’s dressed in simple black pants and a white button-down shirt, but everything’s tailored to perfection. His eyebrow arches in question as if to say, “What is it now?”
I blow him a kiss.
He says something—I doubt it’s flattering—and then strolls toward the door, his steps measured, his expression controlled. The glass door swings open with a push of his splayed hand. “Did you need something, Justine?”
“Why thank you for the invitation. I think I will come in!” I squeeze through the narrow space before he can utter another word, brushing past his solid body, catching that now familiar spicy scent.
The woman in the suit offers me a warm smile as she closes the distance, her heels clicking on the gleaming hardwood. She’s beautiful, her suit tailored to flatter her wide hips, her sleek platinum blond bob-cut settled at her shoulders. “Welcome! I’m Morgan. You must be here to learn more about the exciting Revive Project?” She aims her French-manicured fingertips toward the easels with a flourish. Is she trying to impress me or her boss?
“I am!” Now that I’m standing inside, I can see the wall art for what it is—a montage of projects in the area over the last seven years. “Wow. HG is responsible for all this. I knew they had their hands in a lot around Polson Falls. I just didn’t quite realize how much.” There’s an aerial photograph before and after of the town limits. In just ten years, the town’s urban center has doubled. “Look at all that farmland, just paved over and gobbled up by development.”