Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 134045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
I would be one of those people.
One day.
For now, I’d tried to make my coffee last for as long as possible, and had still been holding onto it when I walked into the living room, dressed, purse on my shoulder ready to go.
I’d already braced for the impact of Lance in my living room, but his presence still hit me, even if he barely glanced at me.
I pretended that didn’t bother me and I focused on my kid, preparing myself for a face full of chocolate icing, a stained t-shirt, sticky fingers. I was pleasantly surprised seeing only the tiniest smudge on his forehead—who knows how it got that far away from his mouth—and nothing on his shirt, or hands, by the looks of it. He even had his backpack on his back, which I, of course, had to check before he left the house. He once somehow fit our entire toaster in it so he could make toast for all his friends.
“Alright, I’m ready to go, have you got everything you need in there, bud?” I asked Nathan, sipping the last of my coffee with a broken heart.
Nathan nodded.
“No toasters?” I probed.
He shook his head looking very serious and sincere, but you could never tell, five-year-olds were the best at deception. Well, about toasters in backpacks at least, everything else he sucked at lying about. A habit I was going to make sure followed him into adulthood.
After checking his backpack and finding the remote control for the TV in there, I was happy to see that he had everything else.
I straightened. “Right, we’re going.”
Lance chose this moment to stand and give me his full attention, something I could not avoid even if I wanted to—and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to or not.
“You haven’t eaten,” he said.
I glanced down at the box of donuts, realizing that I hadn’t managed to get one. Who was I? I definitely didn’t think I’d be the person who forgets about a delicious stack of refined sugar and beautiful carbs sitting on my coffee table, but motherhood does that to you.
I also realized how incredibly rude it was of me to not eat one when Lance had got up early, been accosted by me, driven across town, got all the donuts and all the coffee and I didn’t even say thank you.
I snatched one from the pile. “I didn’t even thank you for these,” I said, holding it up and staring at the glaze glistening off it like diamonds. This was totally better than diamonds. “Just tell me how much I owe you, please,” I continued, taking a bite, even though I couldn’t really afford to pay Lance for all the donuts and coffee.
I wasn’t a charity case either.
When I got the full flavor explosion in my mouth, I realized that I would pay whatever he wanted for these things. Shit, I’d almost give away Nathan, if I wasn’t so attached to him and the mere thought of him being out of my sight again was enough for me to make this beautiful donut turn to ash in my mouth.
I swallowed roughly.
Lance was glaring at me.
“You’re not payin’ for shit,” he said by reply, obviously not classing shit as a curse word inappropriate to say in front of Nathan.
I braced for him to echo the word, but he didn’t. I utilized that silence. “Right, we need to go, like now.” I closed the box and handed it to Lance. “Do you want to take this to work and feed everyone there? Change their lives while you’re at it, because those are some damn good donuts.” I smiled at him, even though he was staring down at the box like I was offering him a severed head.
No, wait, I doubted a severed head would make him even blink.
“Didn’t buy them for anyone else. They’re for you.” He looked to Nathan. “Both of you. And we’re not leaving this house until you finish that one, and eat another.”
I gaped at him. Surely I couldn’t have heard him right.
But my five-year-old helped.
“Mom! There’s enough there to even have them for breakfast tomorrow. And they’re all for us,” Nathan shouted.
I focused on Lance. And the fact he just ordered me to eat something. “I don’t need more than one,” I said, a slight bite to my voice, my spine straightening. The command reminded me of the way that Robert used to control what I ate. But then again, he was more about limiting my food intake, not buying me donuts and all but shoving them down my throat.
Lance’s eyes went up and down my body, there was nothing sexual about the look. No, it was assessing something, and when his gaze returned to mine, it seemed he found me lacking. “You need more than one,” he said. And apparently, his word was law, he splayed his legs and folded his arms.