Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
It’s fuck-all late, but I’m not tired yet. With the team settling into quiet nighttime vibes and most of the guys trying to catch some early shut-eye, this’ll be a good chance for me to make sure I know what the hell I’m doing when we get back in a few days. I pop in my earbuds and toggle over to some videos I’ve downloaded on my tablet.
As I watch a YouTuber assemble mushroom risotto, Rowan drops down in the seat next to mine, and Ford hovers behind me in the next row.
Well, so much for my plans. I hit stop.
“You in a recipe club?” Rowan asks, checking out the video I just paused, his gaze flicking to the ingredients listed on the screen.
“Ooh, do you exchange faves? I’ve got a couple Crock-Pot meals that you’ll flip for,” Ford taunts from behind me.
“Dude. Stop holding out. Give them all to me,” Rowan says, tossing his black suit jacket onto the empty seat between us.
I can never catch a break with these guys. “Can’t a man plan a meal on a plane?”
“Oh, is it a private meal?” Ford teases, pushing his hair back from his eyes.
“Hey, if that’s your thing, that’s cool. I mean, we get that you’re really into solo stuff. Just didn’t know it included cooking too,” Rowan adds dryly, with a wink and a jerk of his fist.
“Do you cook in the nude?” Ford bombards me with questions. “Wait, scratch that. I don’t want to know.”
Rowan snaps his gaze to the troublemaker behind me. “Thanks, asshole. Now I’ll have to bleach my brain.”
I snap the device closed and scrub a hand against the back of my neck. “Do you clowns have anything better to do than give me a hard time? How about watching some cooking videos yourselves?”
Rowan turns to Ford, his green eyes glinting mischievously. “Nope. I definitely don’t have anything better to do. Devon, do you have anything better to do?”
“Fuck no,” Ford says emphatically. Then he leans over the seat, clapping my shoulder. “Don’t turn it off, buddy. Come on, we want to learn too.”
Unknotting his tie, Rowan smirks and lowers his voice. “It’s for the nanny, isn’t it?”
I try to maintain a straight face, but they make it nearly impossible. “It’s for Thanksgiving,” I correct.
“We get it,” Ford says with faux sympathy. “You’ve got it bad for her. You want to impress her with all your skills.”
Miles pops up from his seat, turning around with a shit-eating grin. “You’re gonna need my help for that then. I’m the cook of the family.”
Guess he’s been listening in after all. “We’ll see about that,” I say.
As much as they drive me bananas—Rowan and Ford mostly—there’s a part of me that wishes I could say yes out loud. That I could say: Yes, I do. I have it so bad for her. And I can’t wait to do something nice for her. That I could add: I’m counting down the days—for so many reasons.
Especially when a photo lands on my phone the next morning—Sabrina, Luna, and Parker heading to a Thanksgiving food drive with other students from their school.
There she is. Teaching my kids to give back. And looking like she belongs.
It’s a real good look.
I’ve driven home after logging two wins on the road, and I’m pulling into the garage, eager to see the kids.
When I trudge up the stairs and kick off my shoes, I stop in my tracks as I’m rounding the corner.
The three of them—Sabrina, Luna, and Parker—are camped out on the couch under blankets, watching an animated movie, eating popcorn…with face masks slathered all over them.
They can’t see me yet. At least, I don’t think they can. My chest feels fizzy as I drink in the sight—Sabrina’s mask is gold, shiny like her, making her a little glowy. Luna’s is a soft lavender, her favorite color. Parker’s is painted on like a raccoon’s bandit mask. I bet that was Sabrina’s creativity.
Parker pats his charcoal-black cheeks, a serious look in his eyes. “Is it ready to wash off, Sabrina?”
Luna leans over, inspecting his face. “I think you need about five more minutes, right, Sabrina?”
Sabrina studies Parker and nods. “Yep. Almost. And your skin is going to be so smooth, you’re going to love it, you little bandit.”
He shoots her a skeptical look. “I don’t know...”
She pats his knee. “At least you’re trying it. That’s the thing—sometimes you just have to try things in life. You don’t know until you try.”
From around the corner, I listen like a little spy. They don’t even realize I’m here.
But I’m okay with my secret mission. Because my heart is thudding powerfully against my chest at the sight of them on the couch.
Having a good time. Settled in. Comfy. Cozy. And as I take in the scene, all I can think is…I could get used to this.