Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Her simple and deep belief in me chases away the last of my doubts.
“Let me know how it turns out, okay?” she whispers.
“I will, I promise,” holding her tenderly.
I shut my eyes then, and with the feel of her body curled up next to me, sleep comes more easily.
Chapter
Thirty-One
AMELIA
It’s Saturday morning, and the air is warm and homely with the scent of fresh coffee and toasted oats. I’m perched on a stool at the breakfast nook, my bare feet swinging, a bowl of cereal—crisp flakes and sliced strawberries—crunching under my spoon.
Max sits across from me, his dark hair tousled, a plain white T-shirt clinging to his chest, and his blue eyes catching mine over the rim of his coffee mug. Jason’s beside him, milk smudging his chin, as he chats away.
The scene is the perfect picture of the family I'd always wanted.
After my mom passed away, I’d always been left alone with the staff. My dad was always away on business, and even when he was home, he was distant. There was a constant hole in my chest, void of affection, until Max came along and I knew what it felt like to be adored. The same thing is happening again, and it is the most beautiful feeling in the world.
Max is the most beautiful thing to happen to me.
“Do you want to come to the farmers’ market with me?” I ask Jason. My voice is light as I scoop another bite, the strawberry’s sweetness bursting on my tongue.
Jason nods, his gray eyes sparkling with excitement. “Yeah! Can we get peaches?” he asks, his voice high and eager.
I grin and nod in agreement. "Of course."
“You like peaches, Jason?” Max asks.
"Yeah," the little boy responds.
Max’s gaze flicks to me, and in it is the sad realization that he hardly knows his own son.
After we're done eating, Max stands and insists on clearing the bowls. Jason and I agree to his command that we are to do nothing. I sit and watch him to my heart's content. His arm brushes mine as he leans over, and it’s a very deliberate touch that sends a spark through me. I bite my lip, heat pooling low, and catch his eye, the smolder in there stealing my breath. We’re playing house, but it’s more—we’re playing a dangerous game, a raw, and reckless game, and I'm enjoying every bit of it.
Half an hour later we pile into the SUV. We both turn to watch Jason buckle himself into his seat, then off we go. The farmers’ market is a short drive from the house, but I enjoy it regardless. The clear blue sky, sunlight glinting off the homes and towers. Max drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the console, inches from mine.
I desperately fight the urge to touch him, to lace my fingers with his, but I have to keep Jason in mind. Jason chatters on about his favorite game, and I nod, half-listening. I keep stealing glances at Max. I can see how invested he has become in learning more about his little boy.
I, on the other hand, can't look away from the way his T-shirt stretches across his shoulders. All the memories of us making love or outrightly fucking, assault me until I’m forced to shut my eyes and keep myself in check.
“Here we are,” Max announces.
I open my eyes. The market is buzzing with life—stalls piled high with vibrant fruit and vegetables, tomatoes, golden peaches, bundles of basil that scent the air with green, earthy notes. I grab the woven basket from the boot, its handle smooth and intricate, as Jason darts ahead, pointing at a stall of homemade doughnuts. Max walks beside me, close, his arm brushing mine, each touch a subtle tease.
“Look at him,” he murmurs, almost in awe of his son. “I’ve never seen him so happy. He’s only been like this since you arrived.”
My heart twists with love for Jason. “He’s easy to love,” I say, meeting his eyes. There’s heat in our glances, and they make my skin flush. We move through the stalls, eating doughnuts and picking out zucchini flowers, a bag of peaches, a homemade apple pie, fresh crusty bread, small pots of herbs, and two jars of raw honey. Max’s hand grazes my lower back, guiding me through the crowd, and I lean into it, greedy for his touch, even though I know we could be seen by someone Sara knows.
The thought of her is a constant shadow I can’t shake so I don’t even bother.
Before the sun becomes scorching hot, we head back home. Our next stop is the herb garden behind the house, framed by blooming jasmine and rose bushes. Max kneels in the dirt, his jeans streaked with soil, as he helps Jason plant the herbs we bought—rosemary and thyme. I watch Max, his hands steady, gentle, as he turns the earth, and my chest aches. This... all of this is what I always wanted. Him, us, a life woven together.