Southern Roots Boxed Set by Donna Jeffries EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: Donna Jeffries
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 1 MB
My phone chimes, the sound of a high-pitched, toy car engine. My ride
I’m not quite ready to leave, but I did call the ride, and I can’t
keep putting off this conversation. If my boss wasn’t quite so grumpy and if
he didn’t already pay me quite so well, I wouldn’t feel so nervous about
asking for a raise.
Honestly, Dawson Tightwad Houser should’ve offered me the raise
The only reason he hasn’t been paying me more all this time is because of
my own chickenness in asking him to.
“Today,” I mutter to myself, reaching for the cup of pink grapefruit
segments. I like to start the day out with the intent of eating well. I’ll be
sorting Skittles by lunchtime, and I remember that I’m down to my last three
I’ll have to find someone to drive me to the warehouse store to get
another box. I buy the candy in bulk, the way movie theaters do, because I
can save thirty-eight cents per bag over buying them at the corner market I
can walk to.
The doorbell rings, and I snatch my purse off the kitchen counter and take
it with my grapefruit segments toward the door. “Sorry,” I say as I open the
door. “I’m coming.”
“Callie Michaels?” the man standing there asks. He’s wearing a ball cap
with the NY on it for the Yankees, a gray T-shirt with the same logo, and a
pair of navy blue sweat pants that hang on his skinny frame.
He’s a few inches taller than me, even in my cute ankle boots with a
three-inch heel, and he’s just my type. Aloof, sure, but most guys are when
meeting a pretty woman.
I smile at him, hoping I’m pretty enough for the likes of him. “Yep, Callie
“I’m Chris.” He flashes me a smile in return.
I pull my phone out. “I’m sending my girlfriend the info of my ride in
case I disappear.”
He chuckles and turns to go down my front steps. I love my little blue
house. It sits at the end of a dead-end street, and has one of the biggest live
oaks in the neighborhood standing guard in the front yard.
“Tara’s already responded,” I say, stepping out of the house and pulling
my front door closed. As I go down the steps, I run through my mental
checklist for leaving the house.
Stove, off. That’s important too, as I’ve left it on before, and all those
things my mother used to worry about happening if someone would be such a
disaster to leave the stove on when they left the house—those happened.
The candle I’d had beside the stove had melted everywhere. The oozing
wax had soaked into the bottom of the roll of paper towels, and it had fallen
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