Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“I’m good with that,” I assure her, and with a nod, she rolls the window back up, then waits for me to get into my truck, which I’d picked up from the Root so that I could follow her to the park.
When we arrive at her parents’ place a few minutes later, I park right behind her, then help her get Sampson and his diaper bag inside, a task that is more difficult than one would think it would be. How she’s been doing all this on her own for almost a year is mind-blowing to me, and it just shows how strong women are when they don’t have any other choice.
“Do you know what you want to eat?” she asks as she walks through the small entryway in the front of the house. She turns on lights as she goes to the living room, across from the kitchen, where she places Sampson near his toys.
“I’m good with whatever.”
“Pizza?” she asks, glancing at me quickly before turning on the TV and putting it on some kids’ show with brightly colored singing animals. “Your sister mentioned you like a pizza from Rosco’s.”
“I do, but if you’re not in the mood for that, I’m good with whatever you want,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes as she walks toward me.
“I’m going to make Sam some noodles and peas for dinner. Do you want a plate of that?” She raises a brow, and I must make a face, because she laughs. “I thought so.” She passes me. “I’ll call in the order for Rosco’s once I get Sam something to eat.”
“I can put in an order for us.” I pull out my cell from my back pocket. “Do you know what you want?”
“They have an antipasto salad there that’s good. Can I get that with grilled chicken and balsamic vinaigrette?” She pulls out a plastic container from the fridge as I dial the number and put my phone to my ear. “Oh, also an order of cheesy breadsticks and a slice of chocolate cake?”
“Is that all?” I raise a brow, listening to the phone ring.
“Buffalo wings also sound good.” My eyes travel over her from her face to her now bare feet. Even with her abundance of curves, she’s still tiny, so I have no idea where she’s going to put all that food. “Don’t look at me like you’re judging me.”
“I’m not judging you.”
“Good, because it would suck if I had to kick your ass after the great day we’ve had,” she tells me, and I fight back a smile as a guy named Mark answers the phone and asks for my order. Once I give it to him, along with the number for my credit card and her address, I hang up and tuck my cell back into my pocket.
“They said it’s going to be an hour or a little longer before our food will get here.”
“That works. It should give me enough time to get Sam fed, bathed, and maybe even in bed.” She dumps a handful of frozen peas in a strainer, along with the pasta from the fridge, then runs hot water over them.
“What can I help with?” I start to step farther into the kitchen but stop when I feel a tug on the leg of my jeans.
“Dada, da, baba,” Sampson demands when I look down at him, and I bend to pick him up and rest him on my hip.
“No bottle, baby. It’s dinnertime,” Everly tells him, walking to the round kitchen table and pulling out a high chair that’s tucked in the corner.
“No, no, no, baba.” He pats my cheek, and his bottom lip starts to wobble.
“Oh, you’re good.” Everly scoops him out of my arms, then meets my gaze. “And you’re a total sucker.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You would have. It was written all over your face.” She sets him in his seat and buckles him in, then kisses his cheek. “You love peas and pasta.” She grabs the plate and dumps some of his food in front of him. He eyes it for a moment, then sweeps his hand across the top of his tray and shoves a handful of food into his mouth. “See? It’s yummy.”
“Yumm.” He rocks back and forth, then holds out a handful of food toward me.
“No thanks, big guy. That’s all you.” I laugh, then look down at Everly when I feel her gaze on me. When our eyes lock, I’m not sure what the look she’s giving me means, and before I can ask her, my cell rings, cutting into the moment. When she turns to take a seat across from Sampson, I pull out my phone and slide my finger across the screen when I see my mom’s calling.
“Hey,” I answer when I put my phone to my ear.