Page 2
Story: Three Reckless Words
You do the math.
It’s not a big number, barely in the low double digits on a scale of meh to soulmates.
I turn off the highway, taking a little road skirting a forest. Then I’m forced to slow down for a series of bends that make me glad this Chevy has decent suspension.
Otherwise, I’d probably be careening over the hill to my fiery doom, making this even more of a bloody red-letter day.
I don’t even get a chance to appreciate what being a race car driver feels like. This dress squeezes me with the force of every turn until I’m sure I’m about to crack a rib.
Then I see it.
The sign for the cabin, black with silver letters that spell out Solitude.
“Thank God,” I mutter.
The wood front with soaring windows looks new and shiny and modern, just like the pictures on their website. When I turn, the ample glass reflects my headlights back at me.
That’s glamping for you, I guess. All the bells and whistles of a pretty modern home with just enough trees around to let rich people think they’re communing with nature or whatever.
Right now, I don’t give a crap, just as long as the place has a cozy bed and a shower.
Oh, and scissors. I’ll use the jaws of life to pry this dress off if I have to.
I might also hunt down whoever decided to make wedding dresses a team effort.
They’re the only kind of dress you wear that’s not self-sufficient. They’re notsupposedto be.
They invite icky crowds to help you put them on, and then they expect your long-suffering husband to fiddle with buttons or awkward zips or laces to eventually peel the sweaty, smelly thing off.
It's so not hot. Not sexy.
And it’s inconvenient as hell when you’re alone.
The tires crunch as I pull up outside the cabin and switch off the engine.
Blissful silence falls over everything.
It’s been a long-ass drive from Springfield, but I’m here.
Finally.
Just half an hour or so outside Kansas City. Saved by the first place I found beyond the city limits that had a vacancy on short notice.
My snort sounds slightly snotty as I struggle out of the car, my phone in one hand and my enormous getaway bag that was resting on the passenger seat in the other. I swiped the cutting cake too and threw it in the back.
Smart move. If it’s too late for any decent food, at least I can eat my feelings in sugar.
The place is even nicer up close with its black walls with wooden accents hugging those ginormous windows.
Makes sense it would look like a mini palace, considering how much it cost for three days. I’ve never stayed at a luxury rental solo before.
The front looks inviting enough, despite the modern look. Decent porch, cute little fence, solar lights, and I think there’s a garden out back.
Tomorrow, I’ll investigate, after I’ve put a bandage on my life.
I pull up the email with the code and totter awkwardly to the front door.
Whoever said corsets were a must waslyingthrough their teeth. I’m about three seconds away from passing out.
It’s not a big number, barely in the low double digits on a scale of meh to soulmates.
I turn off the highway, taking a little road skirting a forest. Then I’m forced to slow down for a series of bends that make me glad this Chevy has decent suspension.
Otherwise, I’d probably be careening over the hill to my fiery doom, making this even more of a bloody red-letter day.
I don’t even get a chance to appreciate what being a race car driver feels like. This dress squeezes me with the force of every turn until I’m sure I’m about to crack a rib.
Then I see it.
The sign for the cabin, black with silver letters that spell out Solitude.
“Thank God,” I mutter.
The wood front with soaring windows looks new and shiny and modern, just like the pictures on their website. When I turn, the ample glass reflects my headlights back at me.
That’s glamping for you, I guess. All the bells and whistles of a pretty modern home with just enough trees around to let rich people think they’re communing with nature or whatever.
Right now, I don’t give a crap, just as long as the place has a cozy bed and a shower.
Oh, and scissors. I’ll use the jaws of life to pry this dress off if I have to.
I might also hunt down whoever decided to make wedding dresses a team effort.
They’re the only kind of dress you wear that’s not self-sufficient. They’re notsupposedto be.
They invite icky crowds to help you put them on, and then they expect your long-suffering husband to fiddle with buttons or awkward zips or laces to eventually peel the sweaty, smelly thing off.
It's so not hot. Not sexy.
And it’s inconvenient as hell when you’re alone.
The tires crunch as I pull up outside the cabin and switch off the engine.
Blissful silence falls over everything.
It’s been a long-ass drive from Springfield, but I’m here.
Finally.
Just half an hour or so outside Kansas City. Saved by the first place I found beyond the city limits that had a vacancy on short notice.
My snort sounds slightly snotty as I struggle out of the car, my phone in one hand and my enormous getaway bag that was resting on the passenger seat in the other. I swiped the cutting cake too and threw it in the back.
Smart move. If it’s too late for any decent food, at least I can eat my feelings in sugar.
The place is even nicer up close with its black walls with wooden accents hugging those ginormous windows.
Makes sense it would look like a mini palace, considering how much it cost for three days. I’ve never stayed at a luxury rental solo before.
The front looks inviting enough, despite the modern look. Decent porch, cute little fence, solar lights, and I think there’s a garden out back.
Tomorrow, I’ll investigate, after I’ve put a bandage on my life.
I pull up the email with the code and totter awkwardly to the front door.
Whoever said corsets were a must waslyingthrough their teeth. I’m about three seconds away from passing out.
Table of Contents
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