The Relationship Clause by Emily Evermore EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Emily Evermore
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2.2 MB
- Price: Free
JUNIE
My phone vibrates twice, and I sneak it out of the pocket of
my stretchiest, most comfortable black yoga pants. Stretchy
pants were an absolute must today.
If it were up to me, I’d be home wearing no pants,
bundled up in a blanket, watching reruns of Gilmore Girls.
Unfortunately, the choice of pants or no pants is a luxury
only the rich or remote workers can afford. I, however, am
just a lowly barista making barely above minimum wage.
By the way, if you ever get the pleasure of having a neardeath experience and then get the chance to return to work
quickly after, don’t. Just don’t.
As it stands, I have no choice. Yay me.
After a quick peek over my shoulder to make sure my boss
isn’t around, I check my messages.
Kiera: Girl. I’m DYING for an update. Is he there yet?
Kiera: GIF of Mr. Bean waiting in a field.
I smirk at the image from my best friend.
Junie: No, he isn’t here. Quit texting me while I’m at
work.
Kiera: Fine. But try to get a picture of him this time.
Junie: You know that’s not going to happen. He would
totally notice and awkwardness would ensue. Now stop
texting me.
Kiera: Yeah, yeah, but you know, if you can’t make
anything happen with this mystery man, you’re going to let
me set you up with someone.
Kiera: Also, how’s your first day back?
Junie: GIF of Dwight Schrute saying “I’m not dead.”
Kiera: Hugs. Okay, I’ll stop texting. But I love your face,
bestie.
Junie: Yeah, yeah, right back at ya.
“Um, hello? Junie? Did you hear me? I said one large
blonde roast, please?”
My attention snaps to the woman holding out her credit
card. She’s a regular, and I recognize her immediately with
her dark hair graying at the temples and pulled back into a
low bun. I should know her name, but thanks to my recent
absence from work and the current brain malfunction I’m
having, I can’t remember what it is for the life of me.
“Gotcha covered,
” Pete says from over my shoulder. He
hands the woman her coffee and takes the card, gently
nudging me to the side with his hip.
I smile apologetically. “Sorry. Haven’t quite gotten my
head back in the game yet.”
Both Pete and the woman—Margie, from the name on her
cup—give me sympathetic looks. “Bless your heart, honey,
”
she says in her thick, southern accent. “I’m glad to see you
back and in good health.” Then she stuffs a bill in the tip jar
and rushes out the door.
There is a rare lull in the regular hustle of Monday
morning. Several patrons sit in booths or at tables,
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