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Hattie believes if you add the creamer first, you don’t have to stir the coffee because it stirs itself. She’s a liar. I know this because I tried it once and nearly grew hair on my chest from the gulp of black coffee I drank.
Who does he think he is? Huxley Cane?
little Gilmore Girl-esque town.
Immediately, I’m transported to the general store in Gilmore Girls, which is organized and quaint with everything you might need.
Wouldn’t you be seen as the grumpy man, the Luke Danes who everyone loves, while I’m the crotchety Emily Gilmore?”
He wants to marry me . . . out of convenience,
“Doesn’t scare me, though.” He leans in close and says, “I like my women a little on the crazy side.”
“What does that say about you?” I ask. “That I like hardworking women who don’t take any shit from anyone. Hence why I want you to be my wife.”
“Of course you don’t, because you think you’re the hottest man alive, don’t you?” I hop out of the truck, and so does he. “No, that would be Chris Evans.” I pause and wait for him to catch up. “You think Chris Evans is the hottest guy in the world?” “Yeah. He has it all. The slight hint of a Boston accent, good looks, great body, a sense of humor. How could you not?” “Easy, the hottest guy in the world is Michael B. Jordan.” “Oooo.” Wyatt nods. “Great choice. He is quite the looker. I might have to change my answer.” “He’s mine. You keep your Chris Evans, while Michael and I—”
“As long as you wear my ring, use my name, and sleep in my bed, you are mine to protect. Get comfortable on your new side because that’s where you’ll sleep.”
“You involved a former Broadway star in your proposal. Did you really think it was going to be a simple proposal?” “I did,” I answer. “Fool.” Ryland shakes his head. “Dude, you’re being unveiled by a train.”
“Why does the woman have to be the one who wears the lingerie for the man?” I ask. “Why can’t it be the other way around?” “Baby, if you want me in a thong, all you have to do is ask. I have no problem strutting around for you.”
“My girl gets what my girl wants,”
“You’re cute,” he says. “But take the fucking sweatshirt.”
No, his name is Sawyer. He came into town after running out of his best friend’s wedding, left only a shoe behind, and came rolling into Canoodle. He needed a place to stay, so he stayed at the cabins.
“I’m not that old.” “Old enough to know what dial-up Internet was like.” I point a finger at my chest and say, “Which makes me a fucking pioneer. You have no idea the kind of stress I suffered when I wanted to check my AOL messaging while my parents were expecting a phone call. It wasn’t easy.” She pats my cheek. “Poor baby.” “That’s right, poor baby. I should be compensated for the time I spent listening to that godforsaken screeching while the Internet connected.”
Victoria is a resident of Port Snow, Maine.
