Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“My mom is here,” Winter says, bouncing on her toes, her voice excited.
“I see that.” Her smile softens as she looks to where Hazel is standing. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You too.” Hazel’s smile is not as sincere or as kind as the nervous one Emma gave her.
I want to call her out and ask what her problem is. She hasn’t asked about Emma or questioned me about what’s going on between the two of us again since I told her that Emma and I were going to dinner. I thought she settled into the idea of me starting a relationship, since she was her normal self when I got home this evening and she, Winter, and I had dinner together. But apparently, I was wrong.
Not liking the way Emma has shifted uncomfortably on her feet, or the way Winter is now looking at her mom, obviously sensing something is off, I walk across the room. “Win, go pack up the things you want to take downstairs with you.”
With a nod, she goes to her room, and Hazel goes with her while I close the distance between Emma and me.
“Did you find something for us to watch?”
Her gaze that was on the door of Winter’s bedroom jumps to me, and she blinks. “Umm, yeah.”
“Is it a romance?”
“It depends on your definition of romance,” she mutters, the small smile playing at the corners of her mouth erasing some of the tension sitting in my muscles. Chuckling, I touch my lips to hers.
The microwave beeps, letting me know the popcorn I put in is done, so I take her hand and lead her to the kitchen. When Hazel and Winter come back out, I don’t want her standing alone across the room from me. Not that I don’t think she can take care of herself—I know she can. I watched her put Tucker’s ex in her place, and she’s gone toe-to-toe with me on more than one occasion. I just have a feeling she won’t do the same with Hazel. She’s too nervous around her.
“Will you grab a bowl, baby?” I ask, taking the hot bag out of the microwave, and since she knows where everything is in the kitchen—probably even better than I do—she grabs one from the cupboard under the coffee pot. I start to dump the contents of the bag into the bowl, and she grabs a handful.
“Are you moving out?” Emma asks, laughing, and I look toward Winter’s bedroom door and find her clutching her pillow and a multitude of stuffies.
“No.” Winter giggles, dropping the stuff in her arms on the floor before skipping toward us. “Can I have some popcorn?”
“Sure.” I step aside so she can get to the bowl in front of Emma, and I glance over at Hazel, who has come out of the bedroom and is now standing in the middle of the living room, watching us with a look on her face that I recognize easily.
I’m sure I wore that exact look more than once.
As annoyed as I am with her, I know what she’s feeling in this moment, because I felt the same when she started dating her now husband, and I would watch him and her with my daughter. I wasn’t jealous that she was with another man or that she had fallen in love with someone else. I despised that they acted and looked like a family I wasn’t a part of.
“You want some popcorn?” I ask, and she startles, shaking her head.
“No, thanks.” Her eyes go to Winter. “Let’s go, Win. You still have to shower.”
“Can I have ice cream after?” she asks her mom.
“Sure.” She shrugs, and Winter grabs another handful of popcorn, shoving it in her mouth, then gives Emma and me a hug.
“See you tomorrow,” she mumbles around her mouthful, then runs to where she dropped her things in the middle of the floor. Leaving Emma in the kitchen, I walk to the door and open it up.
“Love you.” I kiss the top of Win’s head and say goodnight to Hazel, then close and lock the door behind them when they leave. When I turn back to Emma, I soak in the sight of her in my kitchen and wearing my clothes, then walk over to join her.
CHAPTER 21
emma
It’s not the streetlight shining through the open windows, nor the heavy weight of Miles’s arm around my waist—like in his sleep he was afraid I’d slip away—that wakes me. It’s the dream I had of a young kid losing his mom and repeating over and over that he wasn’t home to save her.
The story he told me last night in the bath caught me off guard. I didn’t expect his brutal honesty, but him trusting me with that part of his history sealed my fate, and whatever walls I had left to protect myself came crumbling down as I cried against his chest, my tears washing over his skin and mixing with the bath water.