Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I choke back a laugh, but the sound vibrates up my throat anyway and comes out like a hiccup. “Hmm, what exactly does a suspect crap entail?”
“You’re not mad?”
I stop trying to stifle the laughter. She was honestly afraid I’d lose my shit over some drapes, a blanket, and a rug? I have to remind myself that we come from different places. I’ve always had money to do whatever I want, but expensive things don’t mean the same to Everleigh. Also, her mom and sister are guests in my house. She looked like she was dying a little inside when she warned me that something might have been ruined.
“I’m sorry,” she says, waving her hands in the air. “I’ll pay for everything. I promise.”
“No, don’t worry about it.”
“But those things were expensive, Darius.”
“Hey, it’s all good. I am worried about the cat, though. It might have gotten a clean bill of health at the vet, but I think I should call someone and have them come to the house and sedate it to give it a proper spa treatment and cut its nails. It seems rather deadly to let the hellish beast loose and shred parts of your family that can’t be replaced as easily as the curtains.”
Everleigh’s eyes get shiny with tears, and I worry that maybe I’ve overstepped and she thinks spa day is actually code for bringing in someone who is going to do away with Satan the Little Evil Pants Cat, but then she impulsively surges forward and kisses my forehead. Her lips are petal soft and so fleeting. It turns my boner problem, which had kind of solved itself when I face-planted on the concrete garage floor, into a real issue again.
“Thank you,” she whispers before she scrambles up to her feet and offers me her hand. “Let’s go have breakfast. I might have done some recon and popped my head into the kitchen before I came out here, which likely wasn’t a good idea, but I wanted to scope out if anyone knew what happened in there last night, but nothing was up, and your chef is super nice. He’s like, really nice. We’re having waffles because they’re your favorite. There’s whipped cream and fruit toppings and some kind of chocolate involved. So I think we shouldn’t be late for breakfast.”
I take Everleigh’s hand and let her help me up, which is mostly me shoving my own ass off the concrete. “I agree. Okay, I’m coming.”
“And you’re going to abandon the sitting in the car idea, and we’ll find something else?”
She’s so genuinely worried that I just nod, even though I’m not entirely sure I mean it. Maybe for now, I’ll abandon it. But in the future, who knows? Maybe not.
We head out of the garage and walk into the house. My head is buzzing, thanks to the knock against the hard surface, but I don’t think it’s just that. I’m starting to think this woman is an angel who dropped out of the sky and right into my life because it was bland and dark and sad. Her smile is certainly angelic, her sunny hair, blue eyes, and heart-shaped face are angelic, and her body is also angelic because it’s made for devotion and adoration.
Waffles used to be my favorite food.
Then I met Everleigh.
Chapter twelve
Everleigh
Darius, because he’s probably the best sport in the history of good sports, and Hans because, well, I’m not exactly sure what Hans is, both sit through the sappiest of chick flicks with us.
We’ve had a full day of exploring the house, using the pool, strolling around outside, and being fed the most delicious meals. I was the one treated to the fourteen-inch beard hair this time. I think it’s an honor to find such a treasure in one’s soup. I really do.
The three of us girls have a real love for syrupy romance, so when Darius suggested we watch a movie to cap off the night, and he left it up to us, the choice was obvious. My mom’s love for them stems from the fact that she married a guy who wasn’t at all romantic, and of course, she wishes things had turned out differently. My dad was little better than a con man, a guy who couldn’t help himself, someone who left us to clean up the mess and pick up the pieces.
Movies are so much better than real life. It’s a universally known fact.
Curled on the couch between my mom and Heather while Hans and Darius work on their bromance on the loveseat—kidding, they’re taking one for the team to let us have the larger, better piece of furniture—it’s not long before my mom and Heather are both bawling, and I’m not far behind.
God, I’ve dreamed about this. About finding my prince charming. Of course, I knew better. Prince charmings are not for the likes of me, and they aren’t for the likes of real life, either. I knew from a pretty early age that dads leave, moms work themselves half to death in order to make ends meet, creepy guys and creditors demand money, power and water can get turned off, and so on and so forth. I know what real life feels like, and I know what it’s like to get a job and work nearly forty hours a week while I’m in high school and still pull off a scholarship because that was the only way I could get into college, and when you’re desperate, you find a way to make it work, even if it means losing a little sleep. I also know what it means to be a second mom to my little sister, and I know that real life means family and sticking together. It doesn’t mean catching any lucky breaks.