Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Are you finished?” I chide, and she blushes a little at being called out.
“Huh? Oh . . . oh yes. I’ve got everything I need,” Mrs. Hinsley says. I feel like she’s not talking about my measurements.
Great. I’ll be the talk of the gossip vine before I get in my truck. That’s just what I need.
Cara snaps her fingers, annoying me. “We’re on a timetable here, I’m afraid. Wyatt, if you’re done, can you step out so we can get on with the ladies’ fittings?”
“Sure. You all get to stand around and ogle me, but you want me to get out for yours.”
It’s not that I want to stay, but the double standard is sort of irksome.
Cara places a hand on her chest, and though they’re not pearls, she’s gripping the beads of her necklace as though they are. “Of course. I’m a woman of the times, and certainly like to keep things fresh and exciting. However, that does not include having the best man lollygagging around like a pervert while we do the fittings for the bride, bridesmaids, and groomswoman.”
I’m not surprised. Like I said, I don’t want to be here for this anyway, and the whole point of stripping down was to get my appointment with Mrs. Hinsley over with sooner so I can track down Winston.
“Fresh and exciting? I’m sure,” I say doubtfully as I pull my jeans and shirt back on. I shove a foot into my boot, not bothering to lace it up. I don’t really need to at the moment.
Wren snorts. “Actually, you’d be surprised. Or well . . . you will be.”
That gets my attention, and I cut my eyes to Wren quickly. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, nothing . . .” Her voice trails off playfully. Great . . . she’s cooking something up in her head. FML.
“Okay, okay . . . excuse my French, Wyatt, but get out, please,” Cara says, not cussing in the slightest. But I guess talking to the groom’s family harshly is likely frowned upon.
Meanwhile, I have questions, dozens of questions, like . . .
What is Wren talking about?
What does a sweet girl like Avery see in my brother?
What is Hazel’s deal, and why does she seem to hate me on sight?
What is going on with my dad? My uncle? And this town?
And so many more. But now is not the time apparently, because Cara is literally shoving me out the door. Normally I could plant myself like a boulder, but I’m hopping on one foot, with my other boot still in my hand. She closes the door, and it bounces in its frame as though she fell back against it after the strenuous workout of moving me. I swear I hear her say, “Whoo, he is solid as a rock. I thought as much, but it doesn’t hurt to confirm, now does it?” And then she laughs airily before saying, “Rachel, you’re up first, dear.”
I shake off the shivers that run down my spine at Cara’s declaration, feeling dirty and grossed out by a woman old enough to be my mother making that kind of comment.
But I know one thing that will make me feel better. I look around the small outer retail space of Mrs. Hinsley’s shop, hoping to see Hazel, but find it empty.
Where did she go?
I step outside, my head swiveling left and right as I scan the sidewalk. Aha! There she is! Hazel is standing a few stores down, leaning against the building with her back to me, but I’d recognize that ass anywhere.
I stride quickly toward her, eager to continue whatever verbal sparring match we’ve started, but a few feet away, her voice floats to me on the breeze.
“Yes, Mom. I know he’s a Ford.”
Is she talking about me? Or maybe Winston? Unashamed, I eavesdrop.
“Aunt Etta already warned me. And I don’t know if he’s just here for the wedding or for the hearing. It’s not like I can ask. He’d probably lie.”
Hearing? What hearing?
“I promise. I’ll come by the bakery later today, ’kay?” She’s quiet for a moment and then says, “Love you too. Bye.”
I should ask her outright what the hell she’s talking about, but I think the wise move is to ask Winston first. A conversation with him has been my objective all day, and I want some information before I blindly walk into something with Hazel because she will no doubt eviscerate me if I go in at a disadvantage.
Instead, I step back into the shadow of the doorway between us, turning my back her way in hopes that she won’t notice me. I watch her in the glass’s reflection and breathe a sigh of relief when she passes by without a glance. Right up until I realize the store window has photo canvases of boudoir photography on display and it looks like I’m staring at them intently.