Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
The familiar hum of the wheels on pavement and the soothing rocking from side to side is gone, leaving nothing but faint bird song and the fainter sound of…scratching.
Poking my head out from behind the privacy curtain, I look up to see one of Wesley’s socked feet sticking out of the top bunk, but the scratching isn’t coming from there. It’s Freya, awake and making her typical mess in the litter box I set up by the door. She’ll use the litter box when it’s cold or I’m away at work, but she prefers to be set loose in the backyard to do her business, and makes her dissatisfaction with the litter situation known by flinging it absolutely everywhere.
From what I’ve learned on online forums, that isn’t typical ferret behavior, but there’s nothing typical about my fierce, but dainty little lady. She’s equally offended by male humans and litter stink in the house, which feels meaningful.
“Okay, just a second,” I whisper as she sends litter spraying across the floor with a paddle of her back feet. “I’ll take you, just let me find your leash.”
Tiptoeing across the camper to keep from waking Wesley, I locate her leash near my purse and hook it onto her harness. Stepping over the litter mess—I can sweep up later, after Wes is awake—I head outside, shocked to find the sun tracking toward the horizon.
Glancing around, I see that we’re in a tidy parking lot with what looks like a trail marker on one side. After Freya does her business in the grass and gives a few nearby trees a thorough sniffing, I head toward the sign. Halfway to the marker, I hear rushing water, but I’m still bowled over by the view from the trailhead.
A wide waterfall spills over stones that glow a soft pink in the fading light, the lovely scene framed by the skyline of an unfamiliar city. A woman on a bike hops off as she nears the end of the paved trail. I flash her a smile and ask, “Excuse me, can you tell me what city this is? I’m on a road trip and was asleep when my friend pulled up.”
“Sioux Falls,” the woman says, returning my grin as she undoes the strap on her helmet. “Falls Park, specifically. It’s a great place to pull over and stretch your legs.” She glances down at Freya, her smile widening. “Even tiny legs. What’s her name?”
I tell her and we exchange a few pleasantries before she rolls her bike away. On her way to the parking lot, she calls over her shoulder, “And if you’re hungry, the café is still open for another hour, I think. It’s in the old brick building closer to the water. They serve coffee, sandwiches, ice cream, that sort of thing.”
I lift a hand, thank her, and start down the trail. A coffee probably isn’t the best idea at nearly six o’clock, but it sounds amazing. And if I’m caffeinated, I’ll be able to take over the driving while Wes rests. As nice as this place is, we can’t stay here overnight. It’s a day-use parking lot, not a place where campers would be welcome.
Over the next rise, Freya and I are treated to another gorgeous view of the falls and tempting smells from the café. At the door to the small structure, I gather Freya into my arms before pushing through the door, the better to keep her safe from customers not used to watching out for tiny pets.
But there aren’t many customers lingering in the café at this hour. It’s just me, Freya, and a sleepy-looking teenager with red cheeks scrolling through his phone.
To his credit, he looks up as soon we walk in, tucking his cell into his back pocket with a friendly smile. “Hey. The chef left for the day and we’re closing in half an hour, but we still have to-go sandwiches, a few baked goods, and coffee.”
“Coffee, please,” I say as I move to check out the offerings in the cold case. “Actually, make that two. Two coffees to go with room for cream and sugar.” I’m not sure how Wesley takes his coffee, but I figure it’s always better to err on the side of leaving room.
I collect two mozzarella, tomato, and basil sandwiches from the case that look fairly fresh, as well as a container of cheese, nuts, and a boiled egg for Freya. She prefers raw eggs, but she’ll nibble on pieces of egg yolk or white as a treat between meals, and I don’t know when I’ll be lucky enough to find ferret-friendly food again on the road.
“She’s so cute,” the teen says, his pink cheeks plumping as he smiles. “Can I pet her?”
“We can try,” I say, tapping my phone to pay as he bags up the sandwiches and gets a cardboard to-go carrier for the coffees. “But she kind of has a thing about men. She’s not super fond of them for some reason.”