Where I am, it's snowing like crazy. So we'll interrupt your regullarly scheduled reading to bring you this update; stay safe, eat some soup, and read about some more crazy escapades brought to you straight from the drawing board. Thanks for all your support guys!
The Thirteenth Reason
“One pumpernickel bagel with veggie cream cheese, not toasted …” Thatcher extended the crumpled paper bag to me. When I went to take it however, he pulled it back into his clutches. “Rats. You said toasted right? I’ll just go back and have them stick it in the toaster, unless you changed your mind, in which case –“
“Thatcher –“
“- in which case it must be destiny right? Maybe this is a sign, telling you –“
“Thatcher, just give me the bagel.”
He looked hesitant, but eventually deposited my should-have-been-toasted pumpernickel bagel with veggie cream cheese on the side onto the hood of his car beside me. It wasn’t exactly gourmet, but hard enough for anyone with a hangover to remember. I was impressed he returned with anything edible. Truthfully, I thought it would take a couple of attempts before he returned with something that sounded vaguely like “bagel.”
I pulled my bagel and cream cheese out with one hand, crumpling the paper bag with the other. “Knife?” I asked tentatively. The horrified look on his face was enough of an answer. “Nevermind.”
Thatcher ducked into his hands. I guess it was just too painful for him to watch me carefully fold the aluminum foil cover to my cream cheese into a neat little scoop. Brought back far too many haunting memories from ten minutes ago, when he walked by the display of plastic knives, assorted colors and all. Or something along those lines.
“Bronwyn,” he moaned, his voice slightly muffled, “Smack me next time I pick up a drink. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I trailed off.
“Yes it was.”
“You’re right. Yes it was.”
“I’ll never be able to look my family in the eyes again,” he sighed.
“Nope.”
“Or look at any of the wedding photos without being consumed by guilt.”
“That’s right.”
He emerged from between his fingers, looking at me with huge circles – not that I noticed – under his eyes. “Thanks for the moral support.”
I pretended to be offended. “Hey, I’m just being honest.” He still looked skeptical, so I added, “Would you rather me say, ‘Oh no, everything’s going to be fine. You should get hammered all the time, it suits you?’”
He contemplated this. “Will you hate me if I say ‘yeah?’”
YOU ARE READING
99 Reasons Why It Wasn't Love
RomanceBronwyn Kirk doubts that anyone can be as much of a romantic wreck as her - until she meets Thatcher Lucas, divorcee, bad driver, and determined to find out about Bronwyn's past.
