Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
I doubt there’s a store where Bianca or anybody else could fulfill my wishes.
Finding her in front of the enormous tree near the stairs brings me up short. “I was just thinking about you,” I admit when she turns at the sound of my footsteps.
“Thinking of what I can get you for Christmas?” she asks with a hopeful grin.
“Something like that. I’ll give it some thought.”
She turns her attention back to the tree, and I can see the lights reflected in her eyes. Between the awestruck look on her face and her reindeer pajamas, she could be a hopeful little kid–if it wasn’t for the belly that seems to get bigger every day. “Isn’t it pretty? I meant to take a snack in to Tatum, but I got distracted.“ In one hand, she holds a plate covered in crackers, cheese, and apple slices.
I join her in admiring the spruce. “How many lights did they get on this thing?”
“Five thousand.”
“Holy shit.”
“I know.” There's a gleam in her eyes and glee in her voice. I don’t think she minds very much.
“Anyway, I think the boss was about to wrap it up for the night.” I shrug, eyeing the plate. “I can take that to Tatum if you want. I was on my way out, though I can make a pitstop.”
There it is again. The shadow that crosses her face. There’s nothing threatening about it that I can see. It’s more of a knowing sort of look. As if there’s something she wants to say but knows she shouldn’t. “That would be great. Then I’ll go to his office and make sure he doesn’t get wrapped up in something else.”
“Sounds good.” Calm down, for fuck’s sake. I’m practically coming in my pants, all excited because I get to take food to Tatum‘s room. I’m worse off than even I thought if this is enough to get my blood pumping. “Have a good night.”
“You, too.” I know I’m not imagining the humor in her voice. What the hell is so funny? What does she know that I don’t?
Rather than ask – especially since I don’t know how I’ll feel about the answer — I carry the plate past the stairs and into Tatum‘s wing. Many nights before we went away together, I crept into this part of the house, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Nights I spent sleeping on the loveseat in the room Callum set up as an office, but it became more of a second closet over the years. She preferred to do her work in bed, with books, papers, and her laptop strewn everywhere.
As far as I know, the nightmares have stopped. There’s no more reason to keep an ear out for her night after night.
But some things never change. I’m greeted by a familiar sight when I ease her door open after she doesn’t respond to my knock. The only light in the room comes from her laptop, glowing brightly and illuminating the papers and books covering the surface of her bed.
And there she is, lying on her side with her legs hanging off the edge of the bed and her head resting on one bent arm. She’s been holed up in here for most of the past two weeks. I assumed a lot of it involved packing up her life for a more extended, more permanent move than the one she packed for a few months ago. And yes, I notice the stacked boxes along the far wall, even blocking the windows now that she has them piled so high. She’s damn determined to move on with her life.
I creep closer to the bed and see it hasn’t all been packed. On her screen, there is a very basic rendering of a floorplan. I’m looking at the second floor according to the notes along the side of the page, and in the rendering, there are small rooms along the two longer sides of the floor, with what I guess are beds, dressers, and closets. At the far end, there’s a big room labeled kitchen, along with notes typed at the top of the page. Cooking classes? Meal planning? Budgeting?
After a glance her way to make sure she’s still asleep, I reach over and scroll down. On the third floor, there are larger rooms. One is labeled Daycare, another Classroom, while another is labeled Gym. There’s a room across from that labeled: Computers.
This is her project. Her shelter. This is what she’s been working on long into the night, exhausting herself to the point where she fell asleep in maybe the most uncomfortable position ever.
I look around at the books — a few are on business, including non-profits. There are self-help books, too, with titles involving personal power, strength, and being a boss bitch.
She’s determined to make this happen. I can hardly breathe, thanks to the pride swelling in my chest. Tatum. My Tatum. She’s found her place, or what she hopes is her place.