Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Backing out of the driveway, I turn to go back to town—the destination Mason Creek Market. I might as well get the grocery shopping marked off the list while I’m out.
The drive to the market is short. Grabbing a cart from the parking lot to help out the teenagers who are hired to collect them, I wheel inside, and I’m immediately hit with the gush of cool air from the air conditioning. It definitely makes for a more pleasant shopping experience in relation to the hot summer temperature outside today.
I take my time going up and down each aisle, grabbing items from my list and many that aren’t. Turning down the aisle to grab deodorant, I hear a masculine voice that I recognize.
“Girls, sit.”
I look up to see Grayson pushing a cart, and as I approach, I see the girls are the only thing inside. “Miss Waken!” They wiggle in the cart and point toward me as I pull my cart next to theirs.
“Ladies.” I smile at them.
“Looked what we done.” Harlow holds her hands out, and Hayden follows suit. Their hands are covered in nail polish. Their nails are painted, but so are the majority of their fingers.
“Wow!” I exclaim. I chance a look at Grayson, and he doesn’t look impressed. “Did Daddy help you with your nails?” I ask them. I know enough about kids to know they’re going to out themselves. Which is what I want them to do.
“Nope,” they say in unison.
“We done it all,” Harlow announces proudly.
I know it’s not my place, but Grayson looks to be at his wit's end. Placing my hands on my hips, I look between the two of them. “You know you’re not supposed to do things like that without asking Daddy first,” I remind them.
“Hims would say no,” Hayden replies.
“That’s because it’s Daddy’s job to protect you. Even from the pretty nail polish.” I hold out my hand so they can see my painted nails. “See how the color is only on my nails?” They bob their little heads up and down. “That’s why Daddy would have said no. It’s not good to paint your skin with nail polish.” Their little lips jut out, and I feel awful, but it’s true.
“We don’t know how,” Harlow says, her voice quivering.
“Laken?”
I look up to find Grayson watching me intently. I’m ready for him to tell me that I was out of line, and I know that I was, but my heart goes out to all three of them. This man is raising two little girls on his own, and I thought maybe hearing from a woman, they might take my advice a little better. It was wrong, and I owe him an apology.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I was out of line. I just thought, well, I’m sorry.” I can’t find it in me to tell him that I thought a woman’s word might help. That’s a kick in the gut to him.
“You’re fine, Laken. In fact, I appreciate the backup. It’s not something I often have.”
I want to ask him about his parents or his late wife’s parents, but I don’t have to.
“Their grandparents, both sets, tend to spoil them. Hence the reason they have nail polish anyway. Apparently, Mom bought it for them. She let them take it home when I picked them up this morning after begging. She claims they promised to not use it until I dropped them back off tomorrow afternoon for my shift. You see how that turned out.” He nods toward where the girls are sitting in the cart, looking sad.
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “Let’s see what we can do to get this all cleaned up.” I move to step around him and grab a bottle of fingernail polish remover and a bag of cotton swabs. “This should do it,” I say, handing it to him.
“Will it work for their skin?” he asks.
“It should. It might take a few attempts. This one doesn’t have acetone, which is better for their skin.”
“And the back patio?”
“I’m not sure about that.” I laugh. “I’d say you could get some acetone and spray it off, but I can’t really say.”
“Thank you, Laken. You’ve been a huge help,” he says, grabbing three more bottles of nail polish remover and another bag of cotton swabs. I don’t tell him that it’s overkill. Instead, I let him do his thing.
“I like brownies,” Hayden says, pointing to the two brownie mixes in my cart.
“You do? Well, these are for your daddy. He helped my sister and me last night, and this is his thank you.” I turn to look at Grayson.
“Not necessary, Laken.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
“Can we help?” Harlow asks.
I look up at Grayson, and I can see the war he’s waging with himself. He’s very protective of his daughters and who they get close to. “That’s up to your dad,” I tell the girls.