Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Lillian: Oh, you’ll definitely want to kiss me when you see what else I managed to get for you.
Me: What are you talking about?
Lillian: You’ll see eventually. ;) And I’ll let you know when I’m able to get a moving truck that’s willing to make the trek to Vermont. New York movers are busier than a hooker’s asshole this time of year.
Me: A moving truck???
Lillian: Yes, a moving truck. Because, as it turns out, when your ex-fiancé is a piece of shit and your friend is in charge of gathering your belongings while said piece of shit is out of town, you end up with A LOT of stuff. Some people might suggest you attempt to purge some things for top dollar, but what do I know? I’m just the woman who spent ten hours at your ex’s place packing A LOT of valuable stuff.
My stomach turns. I am both grateful and terrified. Thomas is not going to take being essentially robbed very well. But I guess since I wouldn’t take the money Lil offered directly, this is her way of forcing me to accept some help.
Lillian: PS: You can go ahead and send my Best Friend of the Year award in the mail. Queen Lillian, Master of the Universe would be the appropriate engraving.
“Ten minutes, Nore!” My sister’s voice fills my ears.
Shit. I groan and let my head fall back against the headboard.
There’s a huge, tired, psychologically drained part of me that wants to tell her to kiss my ass and go back to sleep, but when she adds, “Either meet me at the car or start packing up your suitcase!” I bite my tongue.
Josie doesn’t mince words. If she says my current living situation relies on me learning how to be a barista, there’s a high probability she means it. Plus, I’m zero for one in the standing up for myself with stubborn mules department—and Lillian’s shoes have the wear and tear from my walk after getting kicked out of Mr. Macho’s truck to prove it.
And I can only play the desperate little sister role and utilize guilt as my main talking point for so long. Grandma Rose, may she rest in peace, came through in the emotional manipulation tactic for me on Saturday, but she’d probably have to rise from the grave for that ploy to work on Josie again.
My only option is to get dressed and hope to hell I can figure out how to make fancy coffee with a flipping smile on my face.
One day, I’ll be able to put on my own clothes, but today, I’m going to have to settle for a pair of Lillian’s gym shoes, jeans, and a simple black T-shirt that has a Prada label etched inside.
I don’t know how well Prada goes with coffee-making but looks like I’m about to find out.
Norah
For the first time since Josie opened the door at six, the quaint wood beams and brick walls of CAFFEINE are blissfully empty, and I am exhausted.
I don’t know the official population of Red Bridge, but I’d hedge my bets that the entirety of it has been here this morning. Josie had no issues keeping up with orders and chitchatting at the same time, of course, but I was like a sinking ship in a raging storm as I tried to manage both the register and writing names on cups. A simple set of tasks, it would seem, but still, I managed to be inept.
My feet hurt in Lil’s half-size too small shoes and all I want to do is sit down, but as Josie comes out of the back with another batch of cinnamon rolls, I make myself head over to the glass cabinet and help her put them on display.
Despite the effort, both of my sister’s shoulders still seem remarkably cold. Honestly, I’m not sure she’s ever going to get over our rift enough to look at me like a human instead of a roach she just found in her kitchen.
Josie closes the cabinet door and sets the empty baking sheet on the worktable behind us, and I head back to the register to exist in silence.
I’m nearly there when she startles me. “Okay, then. No customers, nothing else pressing to do… I’d say it’s time, wouldn’t you, Nore?”
“Time?” I turn around to meet her persistent gaze. “Time for what? Because I’ve got to tell you, sis, I don’t know that I have the energy for more.”
Her brows lift. “Time for you to tell me what’s really going on.”
I have to stop myself from letting out my frustration via an ear-piercing scream at the top of my lungs. Out of all the things we could talk about right now, explaining the monster inside me is the thing I have the very least energy for.
“I already told you.” I pretend to be interested in the big fancy espresso machine behind her. “I needed a break.”