Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“True. I hear mixed drinks are like twenty-something bucks in the good clubs in Miami.”
“You’ve got another two years before you need to worry about that.”
Don’t rush it, I urged him silently. As someone who was in such a rush to grow up, I’d missed out on so much along the way.
“Um, a year and four months, actually.”
“Just the fact that you’re counting months still means you don’t need to worry about the cost of mixed drinks,” I said, getting a little laugh out of him.
He finished his coffee magic, and I let out a whimper at the first taste.
“Maybe if you got yourself a boyfriend, I could teach them to make your coffee right for you.” At my curled lip, he smiled. “Or girlfriend.”
“Boys, unfortunately,” I grumbled, maybe a little bitter still from the last date I’d had. He’d seemed like a perfectly nice guy when he’d chatted me up in the line at the sandwich shop. And then on the date, he’d gone off on a tangent about how he didn’t only think women shouldn’t own their own businesses, but that we shouldn’t be ‘allowed’ to live alone or vote.
“Just because some have their brains rotted from alpha-bro podcasters doesn’t mean they’re all bad,” Traeger reminded me. It was a very optimistic mindset considering his last boyfriend had cheated on him mercilessly and then convinced him he was crazy for suspecting as much.
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But I somehow doubt I am going to find one when I am literally only ever here, at home, or visiting my grandmother.”
It was the same grandmother who had given me this shop that had been her life’s passion after my grandfather died, leaving her a small fortune. She earned that money after a lifetime of being married to a man who gave her a weekly allowance that was hardly enough to buy feminine hygiene products or toiletries, let alone anything she might find joy in.
She’d lovingly run Vital Greens for fifteen years. Then there started to be issues with arthritis, followed by two falls, and, finally, some mild memory loss that made it hard for her to live fully alone anymore.
It had been her own decision to step away not only from the business, but her home. And to leave them to her very troubled granddaughter who was just barely keeping herself stitched together up in Chicago.
It was like she’d known how much I needed to get away. From my life, the pressures of my parents, and the job I hated with every fiber of my being.
She was still in the shop in spirit. And in her portrait on the wall I’d had made—surrounded by rare, exotic plants, with her signature big green glasses on her beaming face.
And she was in it in a more practical way, since I still had to defer to her at times when I was having a particularly hard time with a certain plant.
She even came to the shop sometimes still, though she actually had this big, vibrant friend group of widows at the assisted living place she called home. They were always doing activities and getting into mild trouble with the staff together. She was happy there.
Me? I was happy here.
Or as happy as I could be… considering—
No.
Nope.
I wasn’t borrowing stress from something in the future. I had to stay in the present moment. And in the present moment, I had a good friend/employee, amazing coffee, and a reasonably successful business.
No, I’d never be a millionaire. But I was pretty comfortable. I wasn’t stressing about bills. I had money to buy take-out. Which was great since I hated to just cook for myself. And, I thought as I moved into the shop and saw the dog sleeping on a giant round bed behind the counter, I had Ernest.
He was a loose-skinned, long-eared, short-legged lemon Basset Hound who couldn’t be bothered to lift his head for anything other than the opening of a snack wrapper.
Ernest had been my mother’s gift to me after I—well, after things got hard for me. She thought he would bring me comfort and structure, give me a reason to get out of bed, provide unconditional love, and match my lifestyle. Which at the time involved a lot of time in bed.
Life was busier now. Ernest did not appreciate being nearly dragged off the bed in the morning, nor being forced to get in the car after breakfast and walk all the way from the parking lot of the shop to his bed. But he was a calm, cute store staple that people loved to see when they came in.
“Hard at work, I see,” I said as I passed. I got a slightly cracked eye before he went back to sleep, letting out a huff. I swore it said ‘Hey, I didn’t sign up for this. I was supposed to be an emotional support bed dog, and this is what you do to me?’