Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Watching Sage dunk his own chip in the salsa and pop it in his mouth, I laugh when he has the same reaction I just had. His mouth opens and his eyes water as he puts his beer to his lips and chugs.
“I’m sorry. I’ll get you a new one.” The waiter picks up the salsa and leaves only to appear out of thin air as he sets a new salsa between us. “It should be okay now.” He smiles.
“Thank you.” I smile at him before he walks off.
“It should be okay?” Sage repeats, and I smile as I bite into another chip without dunking it in the salsa.
“You heard that, too?” I grin, shaking my head. “I don’t think I’m brave enough to be the guinea pig. You test it out and tell me if it’s safe,” I urge, batting my lashes at him, and he picks up another chip, touches just the edge into the salsa, and then places it against his tongue.
“It’s good,” he mutters.
Laughing at him, I pick up my own chip, scoop up some salsa, and take a bite. It’s good, better than good. It’s delicious… or I’m starving. Whatever the case may be, by the time our waiter comes back for our orders, I’ve eaten almost all the chips and salsa.
“Do you know what you’d like to eat?” he asks.
“The salmon taco salad and another water please,” I reply, and he nods then looks at Sage.
“Another beer, the biggest burrito you’ve got on the menu, and a side of guacamole,” Sage orders, and the waiter nods before walking off. “So what’s going on with the shop? Have you and Ellie had a chance to discuss it again?” he asks me.
I pick up another chip and dunk it in the salsa, but then drop it into the basket. I don’t want to ruin my dinner, but at the rate I’m going, it’s liable to happen. “We have a meeting at the bank on Monday to see about the loan. Frankie is asking two hundred and fifty thousand for the salon, and that price includes everything—the chairs and supplies—already there. It’s a good deal. We just have to make sure we can get the loan, along with the extra money we need to do the renovations we want.”
“Is there a lot of changes that need to be made?”
I shake my head. “No, not necessarily. But right now, it’s Frankie’s shop, and as much as we love it, we want to make it our own. We want to do some upgrades and add a couple more chairs that we can either rent out each month or hire a couple more girls to work. We are always slammed, so the extra staff would mean more income in the long run.”
“That’s smart,” he agrees, reaching over to take my hand. “Have you told your parents?”
Blinking, I realize I haven’t told them or Chris about the shop, and they are normally the first people I tell everything to. “I haven’t. I’ve only talked to you, Ellie, and Jax about it.”
“Might be smart to keep it on the down low until you have a better idea of what’s going to happen. Or at least until you have a chance to talk to the bank about the loan you need.”
“You’re probably right. I love my parents, but I know if I tell them, they will want to jump in and throw money at me,” I mumble.
“Having money thrown at you isn’t a bad thing, babe.”
“No, it’s not, but I want to do this on my own. I want to prove to them and myself that I’m capable of doing something on my own. My parents are the best, but they can be a little overbearing at times.”
“They just want you to know they love you and that they support you,” he says quietly, giving my fingers a squeeze. “I think sometimes parents try to overcompensate. They never want us to feel like we are missing out on something.”
“Do your parents do that with you?” I ask, and his face softens.
“My dad is too cool for that, but my mom is a coddler. I love her for it. I’ve never worried about the depth of her love for me. So yeah, she throws love at me the way your parents try to throw money at you.” He smiles then leans back, letting go of my hand as our food arrives.
Looking down at my salad, my mouth waters. Then I look across to his plate and my eyes get big.
“Jesus,” Sage mutters, staring at the plate in front of him. It isn’t a normal size plate. No, it’s something you would serve a turkey on at Thanksgiving, and the burrito sitting on it takes up the whole surface.
“Do you two need anything else?” our waiter asks.