Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Of course.” She ushers me in quickly, like I might change my mind.
I haven’t been over to her house since she had the baby. And now, she’s almost ready to have her second.
Admittedly, I haven’t been a very good friend.
But I’m willing to try.
To do better now.
“How are you?” Mack asks. “Now that the dust has settled?”
“I’m good.”
This time, it isn’t a lie.
The baby cries from a playpen in the middle of the living room, and Mack walks over to get her. As soon as she picks Keeva up, the fussing stops, and her little blue eyes lock onto me.
She smiles, and I try to smile back, but Mack is laughing at the expression on my face.
“You look terrified.”
I swallow and clear my throat before holding out my arms.
“Can I?”
Now it’s Mack’s turn to look terrified.
“You want to hold her?” she asks.
“Yes. Isn’t that what one generally does with babies?”
“It is…” she agrees.
We are at a standstill. And I think she’s still processing that this is happening. But eventually, she hands Keeva off to me, and she’s heavier than I expected. She looks so small, especially the way Rory holds her in his arms and bounces her around.
Her tiny fingers reach up and grab my nose before slapping me across the face and making some unintelligible sound.
“She likes you,” Mack says.
Another slap to the face.
“I guess so.”
“You look good with a baby in your arms.” Mack says, and I quickly give Keeva back.
Baby steps, after all.
“You want to go get some Dunkies?” I ask her.
“Sure.” Her face lights up because Mack never says no to donuts and coffee. “Just let me call Conor first.”
In the time that it takes Mack to get ready for our outing, she accumulates about five hundred pounds of necessities for the trip. Keeva is secured in the stroller, and Mack hands off the diaper bag and toys to Conor, who follows behind us as we walk.
“Crow says decaf only,” Conor tells her.
“Well it’ll be our little secret,” Mack tells him. “Don’t forget I have plenty of dirt on you.”
“Don’t you ever get sick of that?” I ask. “Having these guys around all the time?”
“Nah.” Mack glances back at Conor and smiles. “It was kind of annoying at first. But I like it now. An extra pair of hands and eyes is pure gold when you have a baby.”
We sit down at Dunkies and eat our donuts while Conor texts on his phone.
“He’s got a girlfriend,” Mack whispers. “He just doesn’t know it yet. It’s so frigging cute.”
“He doesn’t know he has a girlfriend?”
“I can hear you,” Conor says dryly.
“Conor and Ivy sitting in a tree,” Mack sings. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
Conor rolls his eyes, but there’s a goofy smile on his face. And I remember him telling me how Rory saved him from himself. Even though he’s been a little shit to me, I know he did it out of love for his brother and his family.
The syndicate.
It really is a family, I realize, as I watch the two of them banter back and forth like brother and sister.
“She’s a dancer,” Mack says.
“Was a dancer,” Conor corrects.
“Right. Until you pulled a Ronan.”
“I didn’t pull a Ronan.”
“Tomato, Tomahto,” Mack says.
After another hour of relentlessly teasing Conor about his new girlfriend, we head back to the house.
I’m smiling, and I feel lighter, and Mack can see it too.
“You should come around more often,” she says.
There is real emotion in her voice. Not a lot, but just enough to let me know she cares. It seems motherhood has softened Mack a little too, but oddly enough, it suits her.
“I will,” I tell her, and I mean it.
“And bring Rory too,” she says.
“Speaking of,” Conor cuts in. “He’s having a fit because he didn’t know where you were. He’ll be here to pick you up in a few.”
Mack rolls her eyes and hugs me.
And true to Conor’s word, I’m back in Rory’s car a few minutes later.
Forty-Three
Scarlett
Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar: but never doubt I love- Shakespeare
“Ye can’t just run off without telling me where ye’re going,” Rory says.
“What difference does it make?” I ask. “You haven’t been around.”
The car falls quiet, and he doesn’t say another word, even when we get back to the house. There is still so much tension between us, and this time it isn’t me who’s running away from it.
He tries to bail on me almost as soon as we get back inside and I’m secured.
“Stay,” I tell him when he gets to the door.
His back straightens, and his hand is on the knob, but he lingers there. Warring with himself.
“I’ll make pancakes.”
I don’t know why I say it, only that it seems like the thing to do. Because who can resist pancakes?
“It’s not breakfast time,” he says.