Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I hate the rain when it’s coming down like this. It’s too much, too fast and the ground can’t absorb it quickly enough. When it starts pooling, ground covering comes loose and starts clogging the drainage system, which then leads to flooding. It’s all nothing but a domino. As soon as one falls, the next goes and there isn’t anything stopping them.
As I come around the bend, I see hazards flashing. I slow down and pull up behind the car, put my raincoat on, and turn my hazards on as well. Being out in the dark, in the rain, on a road with no lights isn’t a great idea. But whoever is in the car seems to need help and I’d feel like a complete shit if I didn’t stop to see what I could do.
The sedan looks like every other sedan you see on the road. Silver and four doors. Right away, I see the flat tire and curse under my breath. I walk to the passenger side of the car, hoping not to scare the driver, and wrap my knuckles on the window. As it goes down a little, I crouch, hoping the driver can see my face.
“Hi, I’m Wade Jenkins of Magnolia Grove. I was on my way home when I saw you. If you pop the trunk, I can change your tire for you and get you on your way.”
The driver doesn’t say anything but puts the window down farther. I crouch even lower and then sigh. Lemon’s staring back at me, looking tired and dare I say, embarrassed.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask. “And where have you been? The entire town is looking for you.”
“I—Jean knew I would be gone.”
“But she didn’t know where you were, and people were worried. Damn Lemon. Ms. Linda is putting fliers up with your picture on them tomorrow.” I stand and shake my head, and then kneel down again. “Go get in my truck. It’s warm in there. I’ll change your tire and then maybe you’ll head back to Magnolia Grove so the fine people in our community can rest knowing you’re not dead in some ditch.”
While the window goes up, I head to the other side and open Lemon’s door. Before she gets out, I slip my coat off and hold it out for her. It’s big enough that I can drape it over the gap between the door and the hood of the car, giving her a shield from the rain.
“Put this on.”
“I’ll be—”
“I don’t care what you’ll be, Lemon. Put the damn jacket on and go get into the truck.”
As much as I want to let her walk away, I don’t. My father raised me better than that. I follow her to the passenger side of the truck and hold the door for her. I do slam it after she’s in though because I’m pissed off. People have been going crazy in town, wondering where the hell she ran off, and since her parents don’t live in town anymore, it wasn’t like we could ask them. The last Ms. Linda heard they were off gallivanting with their RV.
Must be nice not to have to care anymore. I can’t imagine running off without a care in the world, but I guess everyone is different. Her parents were never meant to stay in a small town, and I’m honestly surprised that Lemon returned. Especially considering how things ended with us.
Back at Lemon’s car, I push the button to open the trunk and appreciate the shelter for a moment. I should’ve asked her for my coat back, but she looked so damn adorable in it, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I do wish I had a hat on though, but the thought of going back to my truck where Lemon sits, filling the space with her perfume, doesn’t bode well for me. After kissing her last week, she’s been on my mind more than anything.
Of course, it doesn’t help when I see Ms. Linda and she kindly reminds me of how single I am and how single Lemon is.
Lemon’s trunk is full of who knows what. There are clothes, shoes, and empty grocery bags. Sacks full of books and more clothes. Boxes with the same and yet nothing. I condense what I can, moving slowly because the rain has picked up, and this is the only way I can keep my thoughts on the task at hand and not on the woman I love sitting in my truck.
When I have finally cleared enough space to lift the covering and retrieve her spare tire, I groan. Actually, I think I fucking growl because her damn spare is flat as well. I slam the trunk closed, letting my hands rest there while my breathing evens out. These are basic things I taught her years ago. Always have a full tank of gas before you leave. Always have a gallon of water in your trunk. Always have a spare and a tire jack. Shit, the list goes on and on. She’s hell-bent on being independent yet isn’t taking care of herself.