Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Perfect,” he answers, “though I suppose I could strip down if that’d be better.” He grins, his eyes even brighter than they have been while we worked. I guess he does have a sense of humor after all, not only the dry, serious legalese he’s been using all afternoon.
“We’ll see,” I tease back. “I think the local Magic Mike competition isn’t until Thursday. That’s ladies’ night with half-price margaritas. The winner gets a free dinner.” I’m not kidding. There is a for-real dance competition this week, though Etta doesn’t let anyone get on her bar to do their thing. It’s strictly dancing around the tables to see who wins, which is usually the silliest dance, not the sexiest.
He follows me to Puss N Boots, parking his rental Lexus LS next to my Tesla. When he gets out and sees me looking at his car among the lot filled with beaters, jacked-up dirty trucks, and SUVs, he says, “Didn’t intend to look so funereal, but it was this or some pregnant roller skate of a subcompact.” He scrunches his shoulders and ducks his head down, grimacing. It’s a charming way of saying he’s too tall for the small-car option. I also notice he’s removed his jacket and vest, as well as lost the tie. In his button-down, I can tell that I was right about his workout habits.
Inside, Charlene greets us. “Hey, Birdie! Who’s the stiff?” Quieter, but not quiet enough, she adds, “And is he stiff all over?” Her eyes drop to his groin pointedly, as if we wouldn’t know what she was talking about otherwise.
Rolling my eyes to the wood-beamed ceiling, I remind Oliver, “I told you about the overly flirty waitress? This is Charlene. She’s not serious, unless you’d like her to be.”
Oliver smiles, holding out his hand to Charlene, who shakes it like she might never let go. “Nice to meet you. I’m Oliver.”
Charlene’s eyes flick from Oliver to me and back again questioningly. I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t already heard the scoop. “He’s Chrissy’s lawyer.”
She waves a hand dismissively, nearly clipping me with her long nails. “Honey-baby, I know that. Everybody knows that. What I’m trying to figure out is if this is one of those meet-cutes they talk about in those spicy books I definitely do not read, no matter what Ms. Nash says.”
Ms. Nash is the town librarian, who took over after Francine became the mayor, and she’s sworn to secrecy about everyone’s reading preferences, though she did let it slip that our resident green thumb, Fernanda, once checked out How to Keep Your Plants Alive. It’d been a scandal for weeks when Fernanda admitted that some of her prized cacti in the planters by her driveway were actually fake because while she’s a pro with flowers, the less-needy plants were dying on her left and right. Turned out, she’d been smothering them . . . literally, with too much water.
“Strictly professional,” I assure her, certain she doesn’t believe me. Charlene loves love—the idea of it, the daily living with it, and, most of all, the act of making it. Despite her sexualized, flirtatious nature, she might be the most romantic person in Cold Springs.
She walks her fingers up Oliver’s arm to his shoulder, stepping closer so that she’s looking up at him. “Too bad for you, and all good for me,” she declares. “Follow me, Ollie. Make sure you get a good look while I’m not watching too. Plenty more where this came from.” She pats her hips and turns, strutting toward a table.
Oliver grins, looking at me in surprise, and I shrug. “Welcome to Cold Springs.” When we sit down, Charlene hands us menus, but suggests, “Tay Tay made chili today. You definitely want that. Just let me know if you want it in a bowl, on a burger, on Fritos chips, on my tits. Your call, Ollie.”
I don’t need to look at the menu. I knew what I wanted as soon as Charlene said “chili.” “Can I get chili nachos? And a water with lime?”
Oliver stacks his menu on top of mine. “Sounds good. I’ll do the same, Charlene.”
She nearly melts at Oliver saying her name, and I can’t help but smile. I like Charlene. She’s bold, honest, and makes no apologies for taking care of her needs and wants. But when she walks away to put our order in, Oliver turns back to me, and there’s more than humor in his eyes. There’s heat. “Nachos? Are you my soulmate?”
I find it hard to believe that the man sitting across from me has ever eaten nachos in his life. Messy finger foods don’t seem like his type at all, and I wonder if I’m about to witness him eating nachos with a knife and fork. But to my surprise, he digs in a few minutes later, though he wipes his fingers on his paper napkin instead of licking them clean, but he does seem much more relaxed as we chat. And while he wasn’t particularly interested in Charlene’s aggressive moves, he’s definitely dropping all pretense of professionalism between us for this dinner, making it feel more like a first date than a work deal.