Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
As soon as I turn the corner into the kitchen, I find Olivia squatting down in front of Gemma, dressed in leggings and a cut-off shirt with her hair up in a bun and her cell pressed to her ear. Her eyes come to me, and she smiles a smile that lights up her whole face.
Fuck.
I never put much thought into what it might be like to come home after a long day and have someone to share that day with. I didn’t even know it was something I was missing out on until this exact moment.
“Hey, honey.”
“Hey, babe.” I toss the mail to the counter that is covered with shit from her cooking.
“Sorry, Reb, Bax just got home, so I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says into the phone coming out of her squat. “Yeah, okay. Love you too. Later.” She takes her phone from her ear and drops it to the counter. “Hi.” She walks to me, never losing the smile as she presses her hands against my chest and lifts on her tiptoes to touch her mouth to mine. “How was work?”
“Long.” I wrap my hands around her waist, then slide them back to pull her closer as her face gets soft.
“Dinner is just about done; do you want a beer?”
“I’ll get it in a second.” I duck my head and bury my face in her neck so I can just breathe her in for a moment. I missed her all fucking day. I’ve never missed a woman when they’ve been out of sight, but she’s a constant itch in the back of my mind. A reminder that something important is missing.
“You okay?” she asks softly, sliding her fingers through my hair.
“Yeah, all good.” I kiss her neck and then pull back so I can see her face. “How was work, any drama?”
“Nope, and every client who walked through the door commented on how amazing the place looked, which made Eva happy and yesterday worth it.”
“Good.” I give her a squeeze.
“Did you have drama at work?” she asks softly, searching my gaze. “Did you see Liam?”
“He and I are good, babe,” I assure her.
“Did he talk to you?”
“No.” I smile. “But when it comes to work, we’re fine, and he’ll get over things sooner or later.” I give her waist a squeeze and change the subject. “What are you cooking?”
“Just spaghetti and garlic bread.” She falls flat to her feet. “I was going to make lasagna, but it would have taken too long.”
“It smells good.”
“Thanks.” She lets me go and moves to the stove, where there are two large pots. “Will you put the garlic bread in for me? The pasta is just about done.”
“Yeah.” I go to the counter and pick up the tray that has a loaf of French bread cut in half on it that is covered with butter and a thick layer of a couple of kinds of cheese. After I get it in the oven, I go to the fridge and open it up. “You want wine?”
“Please,” she says softly, glancing over at me before she lifts the smaller of the two pots off the stove and carries it to the sink. “I talked to my mom this afternoon about Thanksgiving.”
“What did she say?” I pour her a glass of wine, then carry it over to the stove as she dumps the noodles she just drained into a pan with pasta sauce.
“She wants us to have dinner sometime before then.” She meets my gaze over her shoulder as I step up behind her and slide my hand up the front of her shirt, resting it on her stomach. “She’s worried about what happened and wants to clear the air before then. I told her I’d talk to you about it because I know it’s not easy for you to get away from work early during the week.”
“Just let me know when, and I’ll make it work.”
“Are you sure? I know…”
“I’ll make it work.” I cut her off.
“Okay.” She melts back into me as she swirls the pasta around in the sauce. “Thank you.”
“You know I love your mom.”
“I know.”
“And there are no hard feelings. I get why she did what she did. I don’t like it, but if we have daughters someday, I might pull the same stunt,” I say, and she goes completely still. “Oli?”
“Yeah.” She places the tongs she was using down on a small plate next to the stove.
“You, okay?”
“Better than I’ve ever been,” she says quietly, adding softly, “But just so you know, I won’t let you pull a stunt like my mom did.”
“You wouldn’t be able to stop me, baby.”
“Sure,” she mumbles.
Smiling, I lean in to touch my lips to the side of her throat as Gemma begins to bark. Dragging my mouth from her throat, I turn to watch Gemma run off toward the living room right before the bell rings.