Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Josie just stares back at me, her eyes searching mine. I have no idea what she’s thinking, and I don’t have any time to ask her because Eileen Martin is at the other end of the bar, shouting toward me. “How about a little service?” she calls out, but a smile is on her lips.
I lean forward to press my mouth to Josie’s. “April 16th or May 14th,” I whisper into her ear after I’m done. “Pick the day so I can marry you again. Personally, I’d choose April 16th because it’s sooner, but I can understand if you go with May. Flowers will be in full bloom, and we can probably have an outdoor ceremony in the square.”
“Clay, you literally just got discharged from the hospital. We were in an accident where you almost died. Don’t you think we should focus on getting over that before we worry about planning parties in the square?” she challenges, her eyes searching mine with a desperation I can’t pinpoint.
I can’t imagine she’d still be blaming herself for all the shit that’s happened, but I take the opportunity to reassure her anyway. “I can’t think of anything better than a big-ass party to celebrate our love right now, Jose. You saved my life.”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t—”
“You did.” I smile. I don’t just mean the accident, though that’s the most obvious of it all. Every time Josie Ellis chooses to love me, she saves me. “I love you, Josie. I love you and I’m ready to marry you again and I’m ready to move on, to move past all the crazy shit we’ve had to deal with over the past few months. I’m ready to focus on our future. On our lives together. I’m ready to build a life for us with as many little mixtures of us as this world will allow.”
Her lip quivers, but I don’t dwell on it, knowing it’ll only serve to embarrass her in front of all these people. “Pick the day, Jose,” I whisper instead, kissing the crook of her neck. “Pick a day, and make me the happiest man in the world.”
Knowing she’s had enough, I place a quick kiss to her lips and move down to the end of the bar. I give her space and time.
And with my space and time, I serve customers.
“You want something to drink?” I ask Eileen Martin, and she shrugs.
“That depends.”
I quirk a brow. “On what?”
“On whether or not you’ll give me the exclusive interview.”
“You want to interview me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Clay, I’m the leading journalist in town. And you’re the man who almost died in a car accident. Of course I want to interview you.”
“You do realize you’re the only journalist in town, right?”
“Because I’m the best, and no one wants to compete with the best.”
I laugh at that, but I also give in to her demands. I have no problem telling Eileen Martin all about the fateful night that Josie Ellis saved my life. With my renewed lease on life, I have no problem sharing it all.
51
Josie
Sunday, December 18th
Sunday brunch rush at the diner is always jam-packed with just about everyone in town. Basically, most people sit through Sunday service with Reverend Bob and then head straight here. Though, sometimes, depending on how much the sermon makes them feel like they’re going to hell for all their transgressions, some people head over to Clay’s bar instead.
Evidently, today’s sermon focused on the Jesus loves me vibe, and the diner is filled with most of the town. It’s a lot of work, but I’m thankful for the distraction. My brain hasn’t stopped running since my follow-up appointment two weeks ago and the unexpected surgery that occurred shortly after.
God, the pain. The pain was so fucking horrible. And yet, I’d swear, even with all the healing I’ve done, I’m hurting even more now. But that’s heartbreak for you.
Once I finish up taking the sheriff’s and the mayor’s orders, both of them sitting together to shoot the shit and gossip, I head behind the counter.
“Todd, I need a number three and six for table five!” I call toward the window that peeks into the kitchen, and he offers a little nod of understanding in my direction. I shove the ticket on the metal spindle.
I jump over to the register and cash out the Williams family’s check, handing the extra change to John Williams while Camille puts their to-go boxes in a plastic bag.
But before I can head over to table ten—where Betty Bagley and her daughter June have just sat down—a hand on my shoulder stops me in my tracks. I turn around to find a smiling Eileen Martin behind me and a newspaper clutched to her chest.
“I’ve been waiting all morning to show this to you,” she says and shoves the paper into my hands. “I even decided to release this morning’s paper late just so you could be the first to read the exclusive interview.”