Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
That week, I was lucky if I could keep the weight gain under five pounds.
Luckily, the next three weeks I chose to eat clean and somewhat healthy.
This week wasn’t one of the weeks I ate well. In fact, I had a feeling that shark week was right around the corner, because I’d been god awful the last day and a half.
“What are you ordering?” he asked as we made our way up to the window.
I studied the menu. “I haven’t tried The Dude yet.”
He grunted. “Doesn’t look terrible. But I’m going for the buffalo burger.”
I ordered, followed by Coke, and then tried to pull a wad of dollar bills out of my pocket.
The moment he saw the green, he stilled my hand. “I’ll get it.”
“I’ll…”
“I’ll get it,” he repeated.
And I had a feeling that he expected his word to be law.
I’d give him this lunch, but then I’d make him dinner as a thank you.
Satisfied with my decision to feed him later tonight, I took the cup the girl behind the counter offered me, then walked to the fountain drinks.
After staring at the offerings for a solid thirty seconds, and feeling Coke come up behind me, I decided to have a Suicide.
Taking a little bit of Big Red, a smidge of Sprite, quite a bit of Dr. Pepper, and another smidge of Coca-Cola, my glass was filled. And the man behind me was chuckling.
“I didn’t think people got Suicides anymore,” he admitted.
I grinned and watched him fill his cup with sweet tea.
“Sometimes, I can’t decide what I want, so I get a little bit of everything until I decide.” I took a drink of my concoction and then walked to the table in the corner of the room that afforded the most privacy.
There wasn’t much of it to be had in this tiny little taco shop, but I had a feeling that it wouldn’t matter.
Especially when Coke pulled out the chair with my back to the room, urging me to sit.
I rolled my eyes at the man move, and took my seat, watching with barely concealed glee as he took the corner seat—which allotted less room—just so his back could be against the wall and he could see exactly who was coming in or leaving.
“So…” He leveled me with a look before taking a long, slow drink of his tea.
My eyes studied his throat as he took his drink, watching the muscles and his Adam’s apple bob with the movement.
“…chickens?”
I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
He grinned. “Have you ever had chickens?”
I shook my head and took a sip of my own drink, deciding that maybe next time I’d go with Coca-Cola instead. “No,” I admitted. “I’ve always wanted them. Well, me and my mom have, but my dad said no. So, we’ve always admired them from afar. But now that I’m in the country with some acreage, my dad can’t tell me no.”
He snorted. “Do you have a chicken coop for them already?”
I shook my head. “No. I have a horse trough thingy that Janie snagged for me from somewhere, and a few heat lamps. I still need to go get the feed, watering thingy, and the thing that holds the food.”
His lips twitched. “What would you have done if you’d gotten the chicks today?”
“I forgot,” I admitted. “I started working with a new company a week or so ago, and I completely forgot that I’d ordered them. I guess it’s a good thing that they were eggs.”
Kind of.
“Do you have any idea what kind of coop you want?”
I shook my head. Seemed like I’d been doing that a lot since he’d started this line of questioning.
“I guess once you know how many hatch then you’ll be able to get a better idea of how big the coop needs to be.” He paused. “You do realize that chickens are a lot of work, right?”
I shrugged. “They can’t be that hard.”
He grunted. “Trust me…they’re more trouble than they’re worth sometimes.”
“You’ve had chickens before?” I questioned.
He nodded. “Yep. They were our main source of meals when we were younger. We raised meat birds and egg layers. When the egg layers stopped producing, they became dinner.”
I must’ve made a face because he laughed. “The chickens weren’t friends. They were our only source of food. Trust me, I know more about them than I’d ever wanted to know.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
He sounded like whatever he was currently thinking—which was obviously about his past—was just a little bit too painful to go into detail about.
“Do you think this tractor store we’re going to has a chicken coop as well?” I pursed my lips. “I was going to order one off of Amazon, though. Do you think that’s better?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t do much on Amazon to tell you whether it is or not. But I do know that Tractor Supply has them, as well as a few other feed stores in town. But, you can just as easily make your own.”