Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Cookie does hire someone else though—a nice new girl named Samantha—Sam for short. She’s apparently living with her aunt in the next town over and needs a job. She takes over the dishwashing and table bussing.
Sam’s very efficient but every time I look over and see someone else besides Fake Kane spraying off the dishes or clearing the tables, I feel it like a stab in the heart. She tries to make small-talk with me, but I just can’t. I’m not rude, but I’m not interested in getting close to anyone new for a while.
Speaking of being close to someone, Annabelle sidles up to me about two days after Fake Kane left and asks me if I’m okay.
“You can see I’m not,” I snap at her. In fact, I burned a whole batch of Raspberry Ripple pies that morning. I haven’t burned anything in years. You know I’m going through it when my oven-sense is off.
“Sorry!” Annabelle holds up her hands in a “don’t shoot” gesture. “I was wondering because, well…because of something Charles is saying around town.”
“What?” I feel sick. This is my greatest fear. Charles and I haven’t spoken since he caught me and Fake Kane on the couch but I was hoping he would keep what he saw to himself.
Which was foolish, really. Charles has always been a terrible gossip. He’s one of those people who likes to know everyone’s business so he can spread it all around. And because he works at his Dad’s dealership and knows so many people, he has a lot to spread.
“What is he saying?” I demand of Annabelle.
She shifts uncomfortably and won’t meet my eyes.
“He’s saying he, uh, saw you and the guy we all thought was your brother together when he came to warn you that he wasn’t really Kane. I mean like…together together—you know?”
I feel even sicker. I don’t like to lie, but if this gets around, it’s going to ruin me. Instead of being the “pie lady” I’ll be known as the girl who screwed her own brother—or at least, the guy she thought was her brother.
“He’s really saying that?” I ask in a weak voice.
“Uh-huh.” Annabelle nods. “Of course, nobody believes it,” she adds, obviously trying to comfort me. “I mean, that would be disgusting. Unless you knew he wasn’t your brother?”
“I didn’t know,” I say dully. “And Charles is being an asshole.”
Which is all true, and I’m hoping that I’ve given her the impression that Charles is lying without actually saying it, and lying myself. God, this is so convoluted! I’m just not a good liar—I can’t keep up a lie for very long before I wind up telling the truth. And I really don’t want the truth getting out in this case.
“Of course he is.” Annabelle squeezes my arm. “I just hate that he’s spreading this nasty rumor all around town on you.”
I hate it too. Because I know if he says it enough, people are going to start believing it. I’ve lived in Singing Rock all my life, but it might be time to think of moving. Where can I go, though?
I start to seriously consider that question in the next few days, because I notice people looking at me funny and sometimes whispering to each other after I leave their table. Charles is spreading the news—little by little my reputation is being ruined and that really matters when you live in a small town.
As if all those troubles and worries aren’t enough, my body starts acting up too. My breasts, which have been feeling heavy and tender for days suddenly start leaking this weird, amber liquid. It’s thick and sticky, almost like honey, and when I taste some on the tip of my finger, it’s sweet.
What the Hell is happening to me?
At least my breasts only leak a little at first so I can cover it up by putting some tissues in my bra. But the problem seems to be getting worse, instead of better. My breasts feel heavy and swollen and my nipples are unbearably tender. Should I make an appointment with the doctor? But I don’t have one. Cookie doesn’t make enough with the diner to pay for us to have insurance and I’ve always been healthy up until now, so I don’t know what to do.
As if all that isn’t enough, I start having strange dreams at night—sex dreams. Almost all of them feature a man in a black mask—someone who seems familiar but I’m sure I’ve never seen him before. In my dreams, he does all kinds of things to me. Things that make me moan and beg for more.
I wake up all hot and bothered, feeling empty inside, between my thighs. I’ve never experienced anything like this—I don’t know if it has anything to do with the breast thing or not.