Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Yes. Without a moment’s hesitation. I was supposed to attend a cocktail party at seven, but I could definitely skip that. It wasn’t work-related anyway, and I’d lost all my interest in family functions.
CHAPTER 7
West Scott
Work dragged the following day, and I was out the door an hour early.
I drove toward Manayunk and texted Alfie when I stopped at a light halfway there.
I left early. I’ll be there in fifteen. What’s the parking situation?
The festival had been in full swing since this morning, and with people getting off work soon, I had a feeling it was going to be packed.
Alfie responded when I got off 76 and crossed the Schuylkill.
Just managed to snag a sweet spot outside the church on Silverwood. You should probably try a block or two away. It’s pretty crowded. We’ll wait for you here.
I pinched the screen on my GPS and zeroed in on three nearby streets to try.
In the end, I parked three blocks away, and judging by the families on the sidewalk heading toward the park, I wasn’t the only one who’d struggled to find parking.
After leaving my suit jacket in the car, I slipped on my shades and folded up the sleeves of my shirt. Another hot-as-hell day in Philly.
Getting closer to the church, I spotted Alfie’s SUV immediately. The gleaming black stood out when it was surrounded by old sedans and rusty pickups.
Alfie was pacing the sidewalk, talking on his phone, and I didn’t spot the kids. Perhaps they were still in the car, which… I cleared my throat and picked up the pace, because a woman was approaching the SUV at a jog, and then she peered inside.
“Oi!” Thank fuck, Alfie spotted the woman too. “What’re you eyeing my car for?”
“You have your children in there,” the woman accused.
“I also have the AC running, and the doors are unlocked,” Alfie snapped.
My mouth twitched.
The woman huffed and walked away.
Was this the unfiltered Alfie I’d once gotten to know? No more suits either. Cargo shorts and tees suited him much better in this heat, even more so with all his ink on display. His arms were completely covered in tattoos.
With no chance to study them, I had no idea about their significance, but I had spotted Ellie’s birth date on there—and if I wasn’t mistaken, a street grid that could be Los Angeles.
He hadn’t seen me yet, and he turned away to finish his phone call.
“No, I’m just sayin’—if you get there late, you’ll miss your window and compromise the location.” He was irritated. “So fucking reschedule. Be there at one, not a minute later, and you’ll need at least two guys.”
I furrowed my brow. Compromising a location didn’t sound shifty at all.
He ended the call and muttered “motherfucker” under his breath, before he turned back around and saw me. “Shite.” His eyebrows crawled higher. “Uh, hi.”
Heartbreaking little mobster liar.
Mobster. Mobster. Mobster.
“Hello.” I nodded down the corner where the woman had disappeared. “I’d consider it our civic duty to keep an eye on children who might be left unattended in cars in the middle of summer.”
He swallowed. “Yeah, well.” Then he walked to the driver’s side. “I have enough doubts about my parenting hanging over my head. I don’t need a nosy Karen thinkin’ I’m killing my kids in the car.” With that, he opened the door. “Let’s go get our faces painted.”
I suppressed a sigh. At some point today, I needed to tell him I trusted him with the kids. It’d been a knee-jerk reaction—one I found fucking valid.
Trip spotted me as he opened the door on this side, and we smiled at the same time.
“Hi, Dad!”
“Hi, sweetheart. Your hair looks great.”
“Thanks!”
“Daddyyyyy!” Then Ellie was running for me, and I was quick to pick her up.
“Hey, baby. Have you decided what you’re gonna paint on your face?” I smooched her cheeks to the sound of her giggles.
“We’re gonna be butterflies! Right, Daddy?”
“Damn right,” Alfie said. He grabbed Trip’s hand, and it was as painful as it was wonderful to slip right back into old habits. Back to the days when we did all this together—and often, too.
At night before bed, I’d end up forgetting the book I was currently reading whenever Alfie was Googling activities for the kids. Concerts, food festivals, farmers markets, theme days, summer events, beach days, and on it went.
“Are you gonna paint your face too, son?” I asked.
He glanced back at me and grinned. “I will if you will.”
“Ooh! I don’t know if he has the guts,” Alfie teased.
I pulled off an excellent mock-outrage expression, and Ellie mirrored my expression.
“You hear that? He doesn’t think I have the guts.”
“But you do, right? Right?” she pressed.
Absofuckinglutely.
I guessed I was going to get my face painted too.
The wider upper end of Pretzel Park was reserved for the children’s festival, where we walked down lanes of food trucks, face painting, kiddie-sized chess, water balloon fights, clowns, pony riding, two stages for concerts, and a bunch of other activities. The children bought cotton candy, while Alfie and I wanted homemade potato chips, one bag each, because Alfie wasn’t good with sharing food.