Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
The real showpiece, though, is the wall of built-in bookshelves. Floor to ceiling, filled with gorgeously organized chaos. Some shelves have books stacked three deep, others hold plants, vintage knick-knacks, and a suspicious number of architectural models. Nonnie calls it “a shrine to nerdiness,” which honestly feels like a compliment.
The whole place smells like fresh paint, and somehow, impossibly, it’s starting to feel like home.
I’m supposed to be setting the table, but instead I keep moving the same blue napkin from one side of the plate to the other. My reflection in the window is jumpy, a blur of curly hair and nerves, hands fidgeting with the napkin, then the water glass, then the napkin again. I force myself to stop and step back, taking in the view of the table. It looks fine. It looks more than fine. The plates are all from that fancy dinnerware set we splurged on, the cutlery gleams, and the glasses catch the light perfectly.
The urge to text Nonnie and tell her to come fifteen minutes late pulses through me, but Preston, reading my mind from the kitchen, calls over, “You’re going to rub the color off that napkin, babe.”
I flush, caught in the act of being an anxious disaster. “I just want everything to be perfect.” I’m nervous. What can I say? It isn’t every day that you tell your grandmother that you have a bun in the oven.
My husband leans back against the kitchen island, spatula in one hand, and grins at me. The new “dad-to-be” haircut suits him; the plain black T-shirt clings to his muscular chest, causing my pulse to skyrocket, and I’m blaming that on pregnancy hormones. His feet are bare because, despite his devotion to modern style, he never wears shoes in the house. I still can’t get used to seeing Preston in domestic mode, even though it’s been months of this.
He sees the nerves in my face and sets down the spatula, crossing the room in two strides. He slides both hands to my waist, warm and steady, and drops his lips to my hairline. “Hazel,” he says, voice low enough that only I can hear. “Everything is going to be fine. Actually, perfect.”
Tears fill my eyes, and I sniff them back. “Damn pregnancy hormones,” I grumble.
“Now, let’s not knock those wonderful hormones.” He smirks down at me. Of course, he’s enjoying this side effect of pregnancy—the urge to jump his bones day and night. Make that several times each day and at night.
I lean against his warm, muscular body, thanking my lucky stars for bringing the perfect partner into my life. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, gorgeous girl.” He smiles, leaning over to cover my lips with his. Those pregnancy hormones kick into overdrive as I melt against him.
Before things get too hot and heavy, he pulls back and lays his forehead against mine. “We’ll finish this after we share our news with Nonnie.”
“It’s a date.”
A few minutes later, the doorbell rings, and I hop to my feet and slowly make my way to the door. My hands are shaking, but when I glance at Preston, he gives me that steady, grounding look that says, “You got this.”
I open the door to find Nonnie standing in the hallway, wearing her favorite magenta cardigan and matching lipstick, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, and her arms loaded with a paper bag from her favorite bakery.
“Well, look at this!” she exclaims, sweeping in. “I almost didn’t recognize the apartment with all this sunlight and color.” When Preston decided to buy us a bigger apartment in the same building, Nonnie helped us decide between the three available choices, but she hasn’t seen our place since the work crews started the renovations.
Nonnie sets her bag on the console table, then immediately starts a tour, hands trailing over the new entryway bench, then the built-ins along the living room wall. “I can’t even believe this is the same apartment.” She spins around. “Or that they made all these changes in two months.”
It has been a crazy nine weeks. “I’m so sorry we haven’t been able to have dinner with you lately,” I tell Nonnie as guilt flows through me. We’ve been so caught up trying to balance the apartment remodel with our two full-time jobs that we haven’t had our usual weekday dinners with Nonnie in what seems like forever.
“Nonsense,” she tells me. “I know you guys are up to your eyeballs in alligators trying to get everything done.” That’s a freaking understatement. “Plus, I’ve been busy myself with the #1 Love Place Social Club.”
“Oh?” I ask as we sit on the comfy sofa. “What have you guys been up to?” Nonnie’s eyes light up, like I just handed her a microphone and a primetime slot on local TV.
“Oh, honey, you wouldn’t believe it.” She claps her hands together. “Last week, we had a pet costume contest in the lounge. Mable Jenkins crocheted a full mermaid getup for her Yorkie. Complete with a seashell bra and a bright red wig. You should have been there. I nearly ruptured my spleen laughing.”