Page 18 of Runaway Bride for the Boss

“Hold on. I’m coming,” she calls out in a husky voice. Shit, did I wake her?

Muffled footsteps reach me and then the door is dragged open. Andrea stares at me blankly, eyes swollen, and hair a rat’s nest. She blinks at me. “Autumn, what’s up?”

“I thought you might be awake. I’m so sorry, I can come back later.” I start to leave, but she stops me.

“Girl, cut the shit. I’m up now and I won’t be—” She lets out a loud yawn and continues, “able to fall back asleep anyway. What’s up?”

I hesitate. “I was just wondering if you’ve heard when my car will be ready, so I won’t have to inconvenience you every time I need to go into town.”

She squints at me. “You going somewhere?”

“Yeah. I need to visit an optician to get prescription glasses.”

Andrea does a double take. “You need glasses? How have you been seeing?” She waves a hand in front of me, and I chuckle.

“I have contacts.” I tap the corner of my eye with my index finger. “I’ve worn contacts since I came into town. My ex didn’t think glasses looked sophisticated, so I switched to contacts. But fuck him; I’m getting glasses back.”

“Yes! That’s the right attitude.” Andrea grins and adds, “Hold on.”

She runs a hand through her hair—which does absolutely nothing to smooth it down—and makes a beeline to the kitchen, grumbling a greeting to Mrs. Staten as she drops a K-cup into the coffee machine. After a few moments, steaming hot coffee streams into her mug. She picks it up and inhales deeply before taking a huge gulp. Her shoulders visibly relax, and she takes another gulp.

I’ll never understand her need for coffee, being more of a tea drinker myself. Andrea is not a morning person at all; she usually needs a mug or two before she can communicate in more than grunts and grumbles. I’m surprised that she didn’t snap at me when she opened her door; she’s not herself unless heavily caffeinated.

Mrs. Staten and I share amused glances as Andrea finishes her mug and feeds another K-cup into the coffee maker. She turns to face us after taking a sip from the fresh cup and rolls her eyes, groaning.

“Not a single word out of you two. I don’t want to hear it.” She makes a zipping motion across her lips.

“We’re not saying anything,” Mrs. Staten assures her. She grunts as she drinks out of her mug and I snort from having to hold in my chuckle.

Andrea narrows her eyes at me. “Autumn, don’t you dare.”

I nod vigorously as I give her a thumbs up. I don’t trust myself to actually open my mouth, a laugh might escape. When she’s done with the second mug, she releases a satisfied sigh and makes her way to the sink where she rinses it out. Then she turns to face me.

“Give me twenty minutes to get ready. I’ll drive you to the optometrist, and from there we can go to the mechanic to check up on Betty,” she says, then hurries out of the kitchen.

“Optometrist?” Mrs. Staten’s brows furrow in concern. “Oh dear, is something wrong with your eyes?”

I pat her shoulder gently. “Only since I was about ten years old. I have contacts in and I’d like to not have to wear them every day,” I explain and she nods in understanding, releasing a relieved sigh.

True to her word, Andrea is out in exactly twenty minutes, and we set off for town.

I glance up at the cloudy skies. “Think it’ll rain soon?”

“Looks like it,” Andrea answers. “And this weather will usher in the cold. They’re saying to expect the first snow any day now.”

I sigh, enjoying the fall colors as we make the drive. I'll miss them once they’re gone, but I love the holiday season, and the first snowfall is always magical. We drive through downtown, taking a right turn off Main Street onto Western Avenue, which is much quieter. The buildings are set off the road and further apart.

She stops in front of a quaint, white slate, one story A-frame house with a red brick chimney. There’s a sign hanging outside with the wordsBrattleboro Family Eye Careand underneath it is OPTOMETRIST in block letters. Beneath that are the names of the doctors.

“Ready?” Andrea asks, and I nod.

The receptionist is very friendly and tells us that one of the three doctors is free right now. She goes through a door,presumably to notify the doctor, and comes back a few minutes later all smiles.

“Dr. Roberts will see you now.”

I’m pleasantly surprised to see that Dr. Roberts is a woman, and young. Probably in her late 30s or early 40s with shiny black hair pulled back in a sleek bun and kind brown eyes. I don’t know why I was expecting an old, balding man.

“Hello, Dr. Roberts, thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice. I’m Autumn Montgomery.” I shake the doctor’s hand, and she indicates I take one of the chairs across from her desk. Her office is not particularly large; but like the rest of Brattleboro, what it lacks in size, it makes up for in charm. Mahogany wood trim accents deeply painted walls and brown leather chairs, giving it an old-school vibe.

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