Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
There’s parking around the rear of the building—the parking lot has nearly been swallowed by the encroaching trees, but I find a place for the truck and park it. It’s late for lunch and early for supper, but there are a few other cars and trucks scattered in the lot.
I get out of the truck and glance in the side mirror. A scarred and tattooed man stares back. I hope I don’t scare Sunny. She often said she wished she could get a picture of me, but of course I had no way to take one for her and cell phones are strictly forbidden in Cellblock C. That didn’t stop some inmates from smuggling them in, but if you got caught it meant a month in solitary—I wasn’t willing to risk that.
Solitary is fucking brutal, especially for a Were. When a regular human man gets thrown in, he’s only got himself to worry about. But the Wolf inside me craves stimulation and sensation like a drug addict craves Heroin. Being locked in a dark concrete cell with no lights, no bed, no windows—no fucking nothing—was torture. The sensory deprivation nearly drove me insane during the months where I had to endure my monthly Shift down there. That’s why even being crammed into a three by five cage was better.
I try to put such thoughts out of my mind and shake off the bad memories. I’m free now, I remind myself. I know that lots of convicts get PTSD from their time in prison, but I hope I’m not one of them. I’m going to focus on the here and now and try to forget the past. And right now my mission is to see Sunny and play the part of the perfect big brother.
Taking a deep breath, I head for the door of The Pie Shop. I’m going to keep this short and sweet and then I’ll be on my way, back to my old life.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I have no idea that this one meeting with Sunny is about to change my life forever.
4
SUNNY
“Sunny? Order up!” Cookie shouts through the window and rings the bell.
“Coming!” I call back. I put the check down for Table Five and give the family sitting there a big smile. “There’s no rush on that, folks. Just whenever you’re ready.”
They smile back and nod, still stuffing their faces with the pie of the day—my famous Blueberry Bacon. You wouldn’t think you could find a way to make those things go together, but I managed it. Momma always said I had a real knack for baking and Cookie seems to agree because he lets me try just about anything in the kitchen and it usually sells real well.
I hustle over to the window and pick up the Blue Plate Special for old Mr. Cochran at Table Three. It’s heaped high with Cookie’s special meatloaf, homemade mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, and a big portion of fresh green beans that have been stewed with fat back until they’re tender and delicious. The whole thing comes with one of my big, fluffy yeast rolls that I baked this morning. I almost always get to The Pie Shop early so I can do the baking before the morning rush begins.
I know it’s not a very glamorous life, living in tiny little Singing Rock, baking in the morning and waitressing the rest of the day, but it pays my bills. I’m even saving money to do some more college courses online. I’ve done several already and made really good grades—someday I’ll be more than a waitress but for now, I’m content.
I have my regular customers and my boyfriend, Charles, who’s sweet as can be, and Cookie, who’s a good boss, even if he is kind of grumpy at times. Plus I own my house free and clear—not everyone can say that these days. Momma left it to me when she passed and all I have to do is keep up on the taxes. I manage that all right, though sometimes things get a little tight if my tips aren’t good.
I’m in the act of setting the Blue Plate Special down in front of old Mr. Chochran—who comes in every Friday for the same thing—when the little bell over the diner’s door tinkles and someone new walks in.
It’s a man—an extremely big man—he has to be over 6’6”. He’s wearing a brown bomber jacket that can’t quite hide his muscles. He also has on tight, new-looking jeans and work boots. His hair is longish but clean, which is nice. I don’t mind men with long hair providing they know how to care for it.
But it’s his face that really draws my attention. He has pale eyes like a Husky and a scary-looking scar that runs through his left eyebrow and down to his cheekbone. That must have been a close call—it’s clear he almost lost one of those pale, arresting eyes. His nose is sharp and his jaw is strong—I think he looks like the morally gray heroes in my dark romance books. Scary but sexy at the same time.