Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 126098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
She tossed her purse and suitcase inside the bedroom and opened the box marked “bedding.” She pulled out a pillow and a sheet set that had never been used and just managed to make the bed before collapsing on top of it. She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. “Home, Sweet, Home,” she whispered to herself just before darkness overtook her.
She woke the next morning, Saturday, or at least she thought it was morning, not having unpacked her alarm clock. She showered and changed clothes from her overnight bag and set about opening boxes. She cut the manufacturer’s packing tape on a small set of pots and pans, not that she had any idea how to use them, and a six piece dinnerware set, not that she had friends.
She hung her clothes in the bedroom closet and set up the bathroom with her toiletry items. She checked the time on her cell phone and found it was nearly noon at this point. She opened her laptop and googled the local grocery and headed out with a list that she’d made and hung on her refrigerator.
On the way to the store, she caught a glimpse of a sign that said Maria’s and slowed to check the place out. It looked like any restaurant/bar with a large gravel lot in front. There were a few cars and motorcycles for this early on a Saturday and she wondered what kind of food they had.
She shook off the thought and headed to the store, stocking up based on a suggested list downloaded from the internet. Back at her condo, she stored the items, but couldn’t bring herself to actually use any of them. Instead she picked up her purse again and headed back out to her car.
Maria’s was dark inside, but not a dive she realized as her eyes adjusted from the late afternoon light. She picked a stool at the bar, slung her purse on the counter and had a seat. She was still going to need another decent night’s sleep before she was over this moving thing.
The tall blonde behind the bar gave her a chin raise. “Menu?” Abby asked politely. The blonde handed it to her. Abby flipped through it. The only thing remotely healthy was a cobb salad. The bacon cheeseburgers sounded delicious, but Abby was a size twelve and had been almost since she hit puberty at fourteen. Thank God she’d inherited her mother’s height, 5’7” without the heels. But still, if she wanted to continue to indulge in her desire for french lingerie, she had to stay within the standard size range.
“Can I get a cobb salad?” she asked the blond. “And a martini?”
The blonde eyed her over the menu Abby was handing back. “Cobb salad, yes. But we don’t serve Cosmos here, darlin’.”
Although Abby had had a rough couple of days driving 1,070 miles in her cramped, piece of crap Toyota, she smiled at the woman. “You have Death’s Door?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you put it in a glass and I’ll pretend there’s vermouth and an olive in it?”
The blonde cracked a smile. “Can do, Red. Can do.”
Abby waited for her salad, sipped her gin, and tried to pretend she wasn’t waiting on someone. It was an odd time of day. Just before 5 pm. He wouldn’t be here now anyway. She was just checking out RC’s best watering hole, that’s all. It’s not like if he walked through the door she’d suddenly become a wittier, prettier, more dazzling version of herself. Talking to men at work, about work, because of work was one thing. Talking to them on a personal level was not a thing she was good at.
A thin, beautiful brunette wearing jeans and a blue t-shirt came out of the kitchen carrying Abby’s salad. Abby guessed the girl wasn’t too much older than herself, if at all. “Hey!” the brunette said brightly. “Here you go.” As Abby picked up her glass to make room for the salad, the girl looked at her. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”
“Just got into town last night,” Abby replied and gestured to her food. “Taking a break from unpacking. I heard a rumor this was the best place to go for a drink.”
The brunette grinned. “Oh, yeah,” she agreed. “I’m Slick.”
Abby laughed and smiled back. “Interestingly enough...I’m Vegas.” The girl laughed, too. “Does everyone have a nickname in this town?” Abby asked.
Slick snorted. “Just about. Except Maria,” she said, nodding to the blonde who was washing glasses. “She’s just Maria and I wouldn’t recommend trying to call her anything else.”
“Gotcha. Thanks for the tip.”
Slick headed out to the main floor and checked on the few people there.
“Did you say you were from Vegas?”
Abby’s head swiveled and a somewhat elderly man was sitting at the corner of the bar nursing a beer.