To Have and to Scold (COASTAL KISSES) by Deb Goodman EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Deb Goodman
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2.2 MB
- Price: Free
Dallas Olivia
Eating at a cutesy local diner is great and all, but when you accidentally
start screaming like a stuck pig, you leave an unfortunate first impression.
And first impressions are all I’ve got going for me at the moment.
Looks like my whole plan of wooing the people of the beachside town of
Willow Cove is going to have to wait until tomorrow.
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If you’d had a…a llama—I think it’s a llama—splatter his spit through a
fence all over your left arm, you would have screamed, too.
With one eye on the beast behind me, I grab the napkin dispenser on my
outdoor table, hold it down with the hand of my suddenly half-paralyzed
and dripping bare arm, and with the other hand rip as many paper napkins
out of the dispenser as I can. I fight the urge to scream again, or hurl, as the
case may be, while I wipe off my arm, wadding up the napkins so I don’t
get any of the offending camelid saliva on my hand.
“Ma’am! Ma’am. Are you alright?” my teenaged server says, rushing
over from one of the other half dozen tables.
My scream was pure reflex. I’m not generally a screamer as a rule—I’m
not some helpless ingenue in a movie. It’s just that a mini camel spat on me
from between his large, yellowed teeth.
During the commotion, a bunch of kitchen staff stream out of the kitchen
like we’re about to be lambasted by a ten-foot tsunami wave. Bless those
poor people’s heart rates.
Are there tsunamis in Willow Cove? Thankfully, I won’t be here long
enough to find out because my new job here is temporary.
I hurriedly retrieve my bag, catching a whiff of grassy cud in the air, and
hand my credit card to the waiter. “There’s a llama or alpaca right there,” I
breathe, my gaze pointing at the beast, who is now waddling down the
boardwalk on the other side of the short fence that encloses Witty’s Café’s
outdoor eating area.
The server looks alarmed. He’s a nice kid with bleached blonde hair
sticking out in every direction and a little matchstick mustache. “I’m so
sorry.” He frowns. “Did Prince Harry spit on you?”
“Prince Harry?” I offer the brightest smile I can manage. “Yes, he did.”
“Oh, honey,” another server, this one a middle-aged woman with purple
hair, says. “That llama is a little weird.” She steps out from the small crowd
of employees that has gathered. “He spits as a sign of affection.”
“Is he, like, all y’all’s mascot or something?” My parents are Northerners,
Boston bred. I was raised in Atlanta, but my Northern roots mean I don’t
use “all y’all” much. The fact that I did just now shows how off I am.
The purple-haired server laughs. “No. He belongs to King Kingston now,
ever since his uncle passed on.” She scratches her head and scans the
boardwalk row of shops along the horizon. “I don’t see King.” She turns to
a co-worker. “Tell Witty I’m walking Prince Harry down to the surf shop.
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