Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Chapter 11
Delilah
Two days in, and we’ve already created a routine. I spend the night at Fletcher’s, make us breakfast, watch him get dressed while I do the same, and we walk out the door together. When Fletch saw me repack my overnight bag, he grumbled, told me to bring enough over for a few days as well as any toiletries I’d need here. Apparently, he noticed me not using his shampoo. The lack of conditioner in his bathroom was all I needed to know to wash my hair at my apartment. My hair has a natural wave to it, which would mean nothing but frizz city. Mom got the lustrous curls, Dad has stick straight hair, and I got the in-between, but there are some days when the humidity isn’t crazy that the wave is super defined.
I’m tapping away at my computer after coming home. I turned on the coffee pot to have another cup or three. The late couple of nights are starting to catch up with me. Sleep is my best friend, literally and figuratively. Fletcher Wild may not know this about me yet, but without at least seven hours of sleep at night, well, it’s going to make for a very grumpy Delilah soon. At this rate, after work, I may have to crawl into bed to take a nap.
I’m attempting to get comfortable in my makeshift office chair, a task that is nearly impossible. My desk may be amazing with all kinds of drawers to put away my plethora of shit I like out while working on accounts, taxes, and payroll, but the same can’t be said for my chair. It’s one of those folding metal types. Madelyn and I looked high and low for a chair to go with the desk while at the vintage store, but needless to say, we came up short. I’m more than likely going to have to order one from a big box store, and that doesn’t make me very happy, unless they have a style that will go with what I’ve found.
I have my headphones on and am jamming out to my moody playlist, completely in the zone, when I damn near have a heart attack. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a movement. I whip my over-the-ear noise cancelling headphones off. “Mom! Jesus, you scared the piss out of me.” She’s standing there with a couple of bags in one hand, the other hand over her chest.
“Well, you gave me a heart attack, so I’d say we’re even. Though, you may want to go change your pants.” And she may be right about that. There are two people who have a key to my place: my mom and now Fletcher. I may need to set some ground rules with Marigold Taylor. Had this been yesterday, well, things could have played out differently.
“You’re not wrong about that. This is a pleasant surprise, Mom. Did you bring me goodies?” There was a time I would come home from college and shop their pantry for the good snacks. While I got a scholarship and worked as a teacher’s aid, there wasn’t a lot for extras. Dad wasn’t the chief at the time I left. Mom was only working part-time once I was in middle school, so it’s not like they were rolling in the dough. Which meant the extras were few and far between. I’d stock up on toilet paper, body wash, the good snacks, and Mom would always leave a bag by the front door with tampons and pads.
“The usual.” She plops the bags on the edge of my desk. “This is sweet. Vintage shop?” My love for thrifting and antiquing came from the woman in front of me. We’d go on days when it was too hot to be outside. Sometimes, we’d buy a new-to-us item, but most of the time we didn’t. On those days, we’d stop and get ice cream as a small treat.
“Of course.” The desk is probably four foot wide by six feet long, there are drawers on both sides, and it has vintage brass pull handles. It was the beautiful honey colored wood and the feet that stole my attention. Beneath the three drawers on each side are spindle style legs and a floating shelf, and the feet are just as beautiful—they’re carved and adorned with metal castor wheels. It was also a steal, and I was ready to run to make the purchase in case someone else snatched it up before me.
“Looks like it’s British, too.” Mom drags her hand along the top.
“I think it may be. There’s a stamp on it, but I couldn’t really decipher it. All I know is she’s a beast and is really heavy.” I stand up, needing to stretch and obviously start back up my yoga. Since I’ve moved back home, the only exercise I have been doing is between the sheets.