Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“A new life?” she suggests. She gives me a half smile, and my breath catches in my throat. Her eyes kind of sparkle in the moonlight.
“New lives aren’t available until morning,” I say.
She gives me another small smile and for some reason it feels like the promise of something more. I shake it off. I don’t need to be reading meaning into a pretty stranger’s smile.
“This is great. Thank you,” she says.
“Heaters are electric. If you have any problems, need a cup of sugar, anything, I’m right next door.”
“Thank you, Byron.” She narrows her eyes.
I hold up the key, which is attached by a chain to an oak disk with Star Falls Cabins etched on it. “Welcome to Star Falls, Rosey,” I say, sounding like the head of tourism for this tiny town I’ve avoided for so long.
My insides twang at how warm and entirely genuine the smile she beams at me is. I love New York, but it’s full of fake smiles. My gut tells me there’s nothing fake about this woman.
I realize I’m staring at her, so I give her a two-fingered salute and head back to my cabin.
Inside, I busy myself, turn on the TV and grab a tub of leftover curry I have in the refrigerator. I can’t get Rosey’s smile out of my head. Nothing can stop the images of her flashing through my brain. Where did she come from? Who was she going to marry? Why did she run away? Her escape clearly wasn’t planned, since she had nothing with her but the clothes on her back. Her wedding clothes.
Shit, she’s got nothing to change into.
I slide the cold curry onto the counter and head into my bedroom, pulling out a couple of t-shirts and some joggers. They’ll be comically large on her, but at least she’ll have something other than her wedding dress to wear tomorrow.
I stride over to her cabin, but pause as I get to the porch steps. I don’t often question myself, but I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing by disturbing her. I’m no Good Samaritan. My reaction to Rosey isn’t normal for me. First giving up my privacy to give her a place to stay and now making sure she has a change of clothes? Is this who I am in Star Falls, or has Rosey sweeping into town shifted things somehow?
I have no explanation, but she answers the door as soon as I knock, like she’s been waiting.
“Just in case you needed a change of clothes. They’ll be too big, but at least…”
Her face is full of confusion, and for a second I wish I’d stayed the fuck in my cabin and finished the curry instead of trying to help.
“That’s so kind of you,” she says, like no one’s done anything kind for her in her life. “You’re a good man, Byron.” Her tone hits me right in the center of my chest. I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, but I’m not sure kind or good have made it to the top of the list. Somehow, when she says it, that’s how I feel. I get the urge to do more. To offer to cook her dinner, run her a bath, do something—anything—else.
Instead, I nod and turn away before I make an epic fool of myself. “Sleep well, Rosey.”
I need to get to bed myself. Maybe a night of rest will help quiet all these strange… urges I’m having. By tomorrow morning, the runaway bride will probably have moved on and I’ll never see her again. She’ll learn soon enough that Star Falls is a place you run from—not to.
FIVE
Rosey
Thank god I didn’t throw my cellphone away in the airport trash, like I considered doing. For some reason I thought Frank would chase after me, aided by the GPS embedded in my phone. Then I remembered I don’t live in a spy thriller. Why would a man I humiliated come after me? He probably hopes I’m dead right about now.
The upside of having my phone is being able to figure out there’s an outdoor supply store in town that opens at nine. I slept in my dress because I couldn’t face putting it back on in the morning, even though Byron was kind enough to give me a change of clothes. And a wedding dress covers me slightly more than Byron’s tee—any way I cut it, I’d look like an escapee from an asylum. But I can’t go another moment wearing it, which is why I’ve been standing outside Snail Trail for the past fifteen minutes. Me and a gigantic moose. Not a real one, of course. It’s as tall as me and painted glossy brown, with large cartoon eyes and antlers that obscure a chunk of the Snail Trail window.
A woman with a bright red sweater comes to the glass door, flips the Closed sign to Open, and unlocks the door. I can’t get in there quick enough. I don’t have a ton of savings, but over the years, I’ve managed to put a little away. Mom would always take the majority of our paychecks. For rent and food and other bills. She’d let us keep a small amount for clothes and a rare trip to the movies. Mom would kill me if she knew any of us had a savings account.