Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 18
Baylor
Sleep wears off slowly. In the first conscious moments of the morning, I reach across the bed to pull Lauralee to me.
Cold sheets. Empty. Shit.
I groan, rolling to check my phone, but judging by how bright the bedroom is, I know it’s well into the morning. The screen lights up with 9 a.m. flashing right at the top.
Fuck.
She’s long gone.
Sitting up, I scrub my hand over my face and roll out of bed. And like every morning shower, I have a plan in place before I’m drying off. I’ll check the shop downstairs first, and if she’s not there, I’ll head out to the festival and help her set up.
By the time I’m dressed, I get a text from Beckett from Tagger’s phone number: Dad said barrel racing at 1 p.m.
He isn’t asking me specifically, but your nephew texts with that much context for only one reason. I reply: I’ll see you at 1.
The quick emoji wearing a cowboy hat in response leaves me smiling as I slide the door to the apartment open, with sneakers on my feet and my head bereft of a cowboy hat.
Used to be that this town would eat you alive if you showed up to the peach festival without the standard gear, and I forgot to grab them yesterday when I was out there. So I text my sister: Do you mind bringing my boots and a hat out to the festival for me later? I stare at the phone for a minute, but when she doesn’t reply, I shove it in my back pocket and grab my wallet to get going.
I step out of the apartment to find the parking lot full of vehicles. Not sure what’s going on, I decide to walk instead of drive to the front of Peaches Sundries. I’m met with hordes of people lining the sidewalks on both sides of the street, a sea of peach in both directions. “The parade,” I grumble to myself.
I’d forgotten about it, though I rode the floats every year in high school. Before that, the kids would chase them and collect the candy they threw. My memories of this event have always been good, but I’m quick to turn on it when it’s keeping me from my Shortcake.
I say hi to a few folks I recognize or vice versa while walking to the store. The bell chimes like it always does when I enter, but Lauralee does not greet me. I don’t even recognize this kid. “Welcome to Peaches,” she says. “Can I get you a peach cupcake or a breakfast sandwich?”
Tempting.
Since I won’t be of any use on an empty stomach, I order the sandwich to go and make myself a coffee from the machines by the cola. When I return to the counter, she has it wrapped up, and says, “That will be seven fifty-three with the coffee.”
I tap my card and try to act casual with the inquiry. “I’m a friend of Lauralee’s.”
“Oh,” she says, her expression brightening. “Well, you came at the right time. She should be coming by here any minute. You should catch her out front.”
Nodding, I take the sandwich and coffee, and say, “Thanks,” before heading back outside. I eat, occasionally looking both ways to see if I can spy her coming down the sidewalk, with no luck. It takes most of the sandwich and me finishing my coffee before it occurs to me.
My Shortcake is a beauty queen, a former Miss Peach Festival, to be exact. I’d almost forgotten since I wasn’t around back then. But I’ve seen the photo and remember my mom updating me about what was going on with everyone, including my sister’s friend. I shouldn’t be surprised she’s going to be on a float. She’s earned the spot. But she didn’t tell me. Wonder why that is?
“Hey, Bay.” I turn to see my sister hurrying down the sidewalk, kids in tow. Beck’s eyes light up as he races toward me, and I ruffle his hair a bit as he laughs and steps away.
“I didn’t know you were coming to the parade,” I say, kneeling when Daisy runs in my direction too. It’s then I notice the boots in my sister’s hand. My boots. Turning my attention back to the little spitfire, I toss her up into the air. “How are you, Daisy girl?”
“Bay Bay.” She takes the hat off her own head to put it on mine, pushing down until she covers my eyes. She finds it hysterical. I find her cute as all get-out.
I lift it to smile at her. Those big blue eyes shine, reminding me of my mom’s. Daisy favors my sister in appearance over Tagger, but Christine looks so much like my mom that it’s hard not to feel a little tightening in the chest when looking at her. My mom would have been an incredible grandmother to these kids. “Is that funny?”