Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I watched Beau’s features harden further, which I hadn’t thought possible. He was a tense bastard, but he had reason to be.
“Even with family support, I imagine there’s a boat-load of shit on your to-do list.” I was thinking of Elliot on the boat. It was one of the many times I’d broken my covenant to not think about him. “No pun intended.”
At least I wasn’t thinking of him with his hands on me, mouth on me, cock inside of me. I was thinking of Elliot the person, a brother, an uncle. Elliot’s skin browning with the sun, the saltwater coating his skin.
“My brother catches the fish,” Beau grunted, unaware of me fantasizing about his brother, not betraying that he had any knowledge of mine and Elliot’s relationship, for lack of a better word. “I cook them.”
The wheels started turning as I searched his face, deciding he didn’t know about Elliot and myself. “You’re the chef at Shaw Shack.”
He nodded curtly. Even his nods were brusque, violent, almost. He reminded me of my brother. “When I can. Lately…”
He looked down at his daughter with an impossible tenderness in his expression that displayed every ounce of love and pain he’d been feeling.
She was smiling away, pouring ‘tea’, arranging where each of her arachnids would be positioned. “Patricia,” she scolded a plastic tarantula. “You can wait your turn.”
I nodded, understanding how this man came to be as guarded and tense as he was. It would be impossible not to be. Horrifying … the thought of what he’d been through. “As I said, I imagine you’re unaccustomed to finding time for yourself. I’m trustworthy, if you want to go do whatever.”
I didn’t know why I was offering to babysit the niece of the man I’d fucked once and who I had promised myself I was going to stay away from—for his own good.
But then I remembered that I broke all of the promises I made to myself these days.
And—because quite simply—the guy needed a break. He needed help. Fuck knows why I ended up being the person to extend the hand.
Most of me didn’t expect him to take me up on my offer. From what I’d gleaned from the man, he didn’t seem to trust easily, was apprehensive, closed off, and fiercely protective of his daughter, only softening for her. As he should’ve been.
And I guessed he might be a good judge of character, after learning the hard way with his previous wife.
If he was a good judge of character, then he’d be hesitant about leaving me alone with his daughter. Rightly so. Not because I couldn’t be trusted with children—they were the only thing I could be trusted with. But because he’d probably correctly ascertain that I was not a good person.
I certainly wasn’t going to be offended if he told me to get out of his house. Although I would’ve been disappointed because I already liked his daughter and wanted to bask in her energy and how exceptionally healthy she seemed. I wanted to bask in the hope of it all.
Selfish of me.
And maybe, just maybe, I wanted the chance that Elliot might arrive. Because not being a good person meant I always had ulterior motives.
Beau surprised the shit out of me by nodding once again, after looking at his daughter for a long moment. “I’ll be in the dining room.”
Then without saying anything else, he turned and walked away, leaving me and Clara to enjoy our tea party.
ELLIOT
“Uncle Elliot!” Clara’s scream was loud and full of energy, something I understood after I hugged my niece and smelled and saw the remnants of frosting on her face. I swiped off some with a grin. “You eating sugar without me?”
Beau had obviously eased up on the whole no sugar thing, after putting her on an intense, organic, raw diet when the chemo hadn’t worked.
She smiled back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “There might be some left, just don’t eat the eyes. I’m saving them for later.” She turned and ran. “Gotta go! I’m looking up the history of Christian Loubo-uteen.”
It wasn’t unheard of for Clara to google semi-obscure things. She’d spent a large portion of her short life in hospital beds with nothing but time to read and watch things. She was not a girl after cartoons; she loved learning.
But that was an interesting topic, even for her. Women’s shoes. Very expensive women’s shoes, if I remembered correctly. Not exactly my area of expertise. Then, of their own volition, my thoughts ventured to a specific woman who I knew wore expensive shoes.
I watched Clara run down the hall with a sharp pain in my heart. She was scheduled to be admitted tomorrow. I’d seen her at her worst, so I knew she was sick, but times like this, I almost forgot. Hopefully, tomorrow might be the beginning of this all becoming a memory.