Page 179 of Mountain Grump
“I’m available.” I set the letter down. “I’ll be there in ten.”
After hanging up, I slide my phone back into my pocket and stride toward the side door.
Anything is better than sitting alone in my house right now.
When I yank the door open, a gust of wind blows through the garage, trying to push me back, but I step through and drag the door closed behind me.
Four hours later,I’m back in the garage.
I did more than I needed to, well aware I was doing it to stay busy and out of my head. But it worked.
Once I kick my boots off, I walk straight to the envelope that’s lying on the floor. Probably blown off the counter by the wind earlier.
And I do what I should’ve done when it was first handed to me.
I walk it to my garbage bin and drop it in.
I’m married to Tilda because I want to be.
And that’s all she ever needs to know.
Chapter 95
Tilda
“What would you like?”The barista smiles at me from her side of the counter.
“Um…” I roll my lips together as I read the list of specialty drink options. “What’s in a birthday cake latte?”
The woman grins. “Standard latte, but we whisk a couple spoonfuls of vanilla cake mix into the milk. Then top it with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. It’s so good.” She wiggles her fingers in agimmemotion. “And we use gluten-free mix. I personally think it’s better hot, but you can have it either way.”
I grin back at her excitement. “I’ll take a hot one, please.”
“Size?”
“Oh, um… large?”
She nods, confirming my choice as a good one. “Love the dress by the way,” she says while typing my order into her system. “It’s so pretty.”
“Thank you.” My cheeks heat as I smooth a hand down my lacy pink skirt.
I dressed for my own personal birthday party, in a dress that’s somewhere between hot and neon pink, with yellow hearts sporadically embroidered throughout the bodice and skirt. It’s cute but a little skimpy with thin straps, ending above my knees.
“Would you like anything else?”
I eye the little bakery case off to the side but shake my head.
This drink will be enough of a treat. And… eating a birthday dessert alone is a little sad.
A fact I know from experience.
Some of that is my family’s fault for sucking. Some of it is mine for never telling my friends when it was my birthday.
The barista tells me my total, and I use my card to pay, selecting the highest tip amount available on the automated system.
“Aw, thanks, hon.”
“You’re welcome.” I tuck the card back in my wallet.
