Chasing Home (CHERRY PEAK #3) by Hannah Cowan EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Hannah Cowan
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3.3 MB
- Price: Free
AURORA
1 MONTH LATER
Will there ever come a time where I don’t skip breakfast and then
complain an hour into my shift about how hungry I am? Probably not.
My stomach growls as I recline in my wheely chair and spread my legs
out beneath the front desk, letting my eyes drift shut. There are snacks in
the back room, but I’m too dog-tired to get up and search for them.
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Anna, my boss, offered to pick me up something for lunch on her way
back to work, and like an utter idiot, I turned her down the way I have since
she offered me a job here six weeks ago. It’s only a matter of time before
she stops asking altogether. The only reason she hasn’t yet is that she’s too
nice of a person. A bit of a momma bear, honestly.
Curling my body forward, I scoot toward the desk and plonk my
forehead against it. My nails are blunt and uneven from my new habit of
biting them raw, and as I rub them back and forth over my knee, they
scratch at my skin. A manicure would be a good choice. That or some pants
instead of the same pair of denim shorts I’ve worn every day in this
disgusting summer heat.
I must have missed the memo where Alberta’s supposed to get hotter
than Satan’s asshole in July because I don’t remember it ever being this hot
in the past thirty years of my life. Yeah, it gets hot in the summer, but I feel
like every summer, the top temperature climbs a few degrees. By the time
I’m fifty, I’ll probably be better off living in Australia.
When I packed my suitcase and booked ass to Cherry Peak, I wasn’t
thinking of summer. I packed with only one thing on my mind: finding
answers. My lack of common sense is why I settled into my shitty rental
with a suitcase full of socks, a handful of pairs of sweatpants, one single bra
and pair of shorts, and too many baggy crewnecks. I clearly reached for my
comfort clothes and not much else.
Go fucking figure.
A buzzing sounds from the desk, and I groan, slapping a hand over my
phone before looking up at the screen.
Mom: Good morning, Aura. Can you let me know you’re alive
so I don’t have to keep thinking the worst?
I swipe the message away and go to set my phone down when another
pops up.
Mom: I love you, you know? Always. I’m sorry.
Dropping the phone to the desk harder than necessary, I contemplate
whether or not it’s acceptable to block your mother’s phone number from
your phone. If nobody knew that I had but me . . . no. Not yet.
Happy, high-pitched chatter sounds from outside the salon before two
women swing open the door, making the bell above it chime. The first
woman, the one with short brown hair that’s been twisted into a bun and
threaded through the back hole of an old baseball cap, is Anna, the owner of
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