# Read the first page of Beg, Borrow, or Steal by Sarah Adams

Read the opening of Beg, Borrow, or Steal by Sarah Adams free, no signup. Two feuding second-grade teachers and neighbors team up.

- Page: https://uncovered.ink/read/beg-borrow-or-steal-sarah-adams
- Genre: Small-town romance
- Year: 2025
- ISBN: 9780593723692
- Read it blind (cover and title hidden): https://uncovered.ink/?b=9780593723692&s=read-page
- Buy: https://bookshop.org/a/125786/9780593723692
- Borrow: https://search.worldcat.org/search?q=9780593723692

## The opening

FROM: Emily Walker <E.Walker@MRPS.com>
TO: Jack Bennett <J.Bennett@MRPS.com>
DATE: Tue, Dec 19 6:34 PM
SUBJECT: IMPORTANT!

Dear Jack,
I heard through the grapevine that you're moving. I just wanted to be the first person to tell you.. don't forget to take all your crap from the break room. Specifically: your disgusting dark roast coffee beans.
All my worst,
Emily

FROM: Jack Bennett <J.Bennett@MRPS.com>
TO: Emily Walker <E.Walker@MRPS.com>
DATE: Wed, Dec 19 6:38 PM
SUBJECT: IMPORTANT!

Dear Emily,
It's clear my impending departure has left you in a sour mood. But don't worry, you'll find happiness again someday. Don't be afraid to cry when you need to, because just like the poster you have hanging in your classroom claims, all feelings are important.
Wishing you better taste,
Jack

I don’t care who you are, when you live in a town the size of your thumb, if you don’t like the way your hair turns out at the salon, you stuff it deep down and never acknowledge it.

And that’s exactly why I prefer to take matters into my own hands and not allow circumstances to ever reach that point. I tend to speak my mind, and have it bite me in the ass too often, so I know if I tell Virginia that I hate my hair after this appointment, she’ll never forget it. By noon, she’ll have told everyone in our zero-stoplight town that I’m her pickiest, most unappeasable client. The roasting and poking will start immediately, and by five-thirty when I go to The Diner, someone will pop up from out of nowhere and say, Are you sure that booth is good enough for you or would you like the one we reserve for the queen?

And it won’t stop there. From that day on, they’ll put a plaque on the table that reads TABLE RESERVED FOR QUEEN EMILY, and nothing I do or say will get them to remove it.

And if it seems like I’m overreacting, please know this is the very same town that started a petition last year, complete with smear campaign, to encourage my youngest sister (who was twenty-six years old at the time, mind you) to stop dating Will Griffin because they thought she was too good for him. He won them over in the end (Annie + Will forever), but the petition with the final tallies is framed and hanging in The Diner alongside the picture of Dolly Parton posing with the town. And I do mean the majority of the town. They heard she had stopped in for lunch while passing through, and one person called another who called their cousin who called their best friend who called their aunt’s boyfriend, and they all showed up for one huge group photo.

Moral of the story: Never underestimate what the town of Rome, Kentucky, is capable of.

The smell of bleach singes the insides of my nostrils as Virginia—one of only three stylists in the area—combines the powder lightener with the creamy developer right beside my face. She’s mixing that stuff so slowly a baby could do it faster, but I keep this thought to myself by picturing the terrifying treasure chest I’ve created in my mind where I lock up all my most antagonistic thoughts. It’s made of black steel and has sharp metal prongs all over it. The thing is deadly and made for keeping the peace in my day-to-day life.

“—Well, I don’t like to gossip,” Virginia begins, weighing in on the conversation beside us that Hannah (the other stylist) and her client, Shirley, are having about the reason our packages have all been delivered late this week. Shirley has been the receptionist at the elementary school where I teach for over twenty-five years. She eats gossip like multivitamins.

Virginia continues, “But I did happen to see a certain someone leaving Brad’s house the other morning.”

Brad is our mailman, if it wasn’t obvious.

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