Read Online Speak (The Voice trilogy Book 2) by Noelle Bodhaine - Free Book Online
Authors: Noelle Bodhaine
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pots of geraniums and hanging baskets of petunias. The temperatures have not yet topped out so it’s still comfortable to stroll and take in the variations. I love the farmers’ market in the summer time. I always find something interesting to cook with, or some unknown pastry. There are butchers that smoke and dry their own jerky, cheese mongers that make specialty cheeses and coffee trucks that run the gamut from black coffee and a donut to French Press and elaborate croissants.
“Ten dollars for a tomato!” he exclaims as he stops dead in front of a tomato stand. The crates are filled with ugly Heirloom tomatoes in a dozen different varieties, Green Striped Zebras, Lemon Boys and Deep Purple Cherokees. But the one he holds in his palm is a Mortgage Lifter, and boy, do they live up to their name! It is plump and bulbous, weighing a solid four pounds and eclipsing the massive size of Rhys’ outstretched palm. I take the tomato from his hand and replace it before picking up a bunch of Campari tomatoes still on the vine.
“Heirloom tomatoes are rare and harder to cultivate,” I explain. “The flavor is unique and pure, they are well worth the price, and these are organic which makes them even harder to grow. I always buy my tomatoes from this stand, they donate a large part of their harvest every season. It’s well worth it in my opinion.” I continue to gather a rainbow variety of tomatoes and pay for them. “I am surprised you would be so…frugal,” I tease him, walking past a stand selling local apples and peaches.
“I do know the value of a dollar, and the good that money well spent can do. Don’t be fooled by the trust fund, Baby, it’s not all daddy’s money.” His grin is infectious. I can’t help but reflect and bask in his light mood. So relaxed and open. “I made my first million at sixteen.” He grabs an apple, popping it off his elbow, and casually strolls to the next tent. I pay for the apple and follow quickly behind, in awe.
“Are you serious?” Baffled by the mere idea of one million dollars, at sixteen years old? Our worlds could not be more distant if I had grown up on the moon.
“I have always had a head for numbers and business, investments really. My father gave me a challenge, he loaned me one hundred thousand dollars to invest. I told him I could double it. Within a year I had paid him back, with interest, and made myself a cool mil in the process. I turned around and invested that, and….here we are. Not spending that money.” His sharp tone betrays his playful mood.
“What did you invest in?” I’m unable to quell the curiosity, even though I know nothing about investing.
“Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” Grasping my hand, he tugs me through the crowd with a zealous grin that spreads from ear to ear. “I love this place. Look at those monster zucchini. Ooh, let’s get a coffee.” He pulls me towards the shade, under the awning of a food truck offering French pastries and pressed coffees. He twirls me around and hugs me so tightly, resting his chin atop my head. He speaks over my head to the woman in the truck. He orders an almond croissant and two espressos, planting a kiss at the crown of my head before we step back and wait. He pushes me back, extending his open palm, cocking his head to the side. “I need some money, Mama.” Oh yeah. I forgot we were doing this. I fish in my pocket and pull my carefully folded stack of cash out, handing him a ten dollar bill. He pays and pockets the change with a wicked grin. We sip our coffee perched on the curb and share the croissant.
“I just have one more stop to make if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, Beautiful, you lead the way.” He stands and offers me his hand before tossing his coffee cup into the recycle bin.
“Ten dollars for a tomato!” he exclaims as he stops dead in front of a tomato stand. The crates are filled with ugly Heirloom tomatoes in a dozen different varieties, Green Striped Zebras, Lemon Boys and Deep Purple Cherokees. But the one he holds in his palm is a Mortgage Lifter, and boy, do they live up to their name! It is plump and bulbous, weighing a solid four pounds and eclipsing the massive size of Rhys’ outstretched palm. I take the tomato from his hand and replace it before picking up a bunch of Campari tomatoes still on the vine.
“Heirloom tomatoes are rare and harder to cultivate,” I explain. “The flavor is unique and pure, they are well worth the price, and these are organic which makes them even harder to grow. I always buy my tomatoes from this stand, they donate a large part of their harvest every season. It’s well worth it in my opinion.” I continue to gather a rainbow variety of tomatoes and pay for them. “I am surprised you would be so…frugal,” I tease him, walking past a stand selling local apples and peaches.
“I do know the value of a dollar, and the good that money well spent can do. Don’t be fooled by the trust fund, Baby, it’s not all daddy’s money.” His grin is infectious. I can’t help but reflect and bask in his light mood. So relaxed and open. “I made my first million at sixteen.” He grabs an apple, popping it off his elbow, and casually strolls to the next tent. I pay for the apple and follow quickly behind, in awe.
“Are you serious?” Baffled by the mere idea of one million dollars, at sixteen years old? Our worlds could not be more distant if I had grown up on the moon.
“I have always had a head for numbers and business, investments really. My father gave me a challenge, he loaned me one hundred thousand dollars to invest. I told him I could double it. Within a year I had paid him back, with interest, and made myself a cool mil in the process. I turned around and invested that, and….here we are. Not spending that money.” His sharp tone betrays his playful mood.
“What did you invest in?” I’m unable to quell the curiosity, even though I know nothing about investing.
“Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” Grasping my hand, he tugs me through the crowd with a zealous grin that spreads from ear to ear. “I love this place. Look at those monster zucchini. Ooh, let’s get a coffee.” He pulls me towards the shade, under the awning of a food truck offering French pastries and pressed coffees. He twirls me around and hugs me so tightly, resting his chin atop my head. He speaks over my head to the woman in the truck. He orders an almond croissant and two espressos, planting a kiss at the crown of my head before we step back and wait. He pushes me back, extending his open palm, cocking his head to the side. “I need some money, Mama.” Oh yeah. I forgot we were doing this. I fish in my pocket and pull my carefully folded stack of cash out, handing him a ten dollar bill. He pays and pockets the change with a wicked grin. We sip our coffee perched on the curb and share the croissant.
“I just have one more stop to make if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, Beautiful, you lead the way.” He stands and offers me his hand before tossing his coffee cup into the recycle bin.
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