Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“I know, she’s the most precious peanut ever,” Bea murmurs, snuggling closer to my chest. We barely fit on the hospital bed together, but Beatrice insisted on a family cuddle, and I wasn’t about to say no to that. Not ever. Not in this life or any other. “And she only looks a tiny bit like Charlie Brown. So, we dodged a bullet on that one.”
“Hush, woman,” I rumble. “She’s the most beautiful baby in the entire world. Are you crazy?”
Bea looks up at me, grinning. “Just messing with you, Dad.”
I smile, loving how that sounds.
Dad. I’m this little girl’s dad, and looking at her now, I can’t believe I was ever scared of that. Because this? It’s the best feeling in the world.
“I don’t even know how to describe it,” I murmur, marveling at her sweet face as she yawns in her sleep.
“Describe what?”
“How this feels.”
“Is it like looking into the sun?” Bea teases.
I nod. “Yeah. But she’s a different kind of sunrise. One I didn’t know was out there until now.”
Bea hums beneath her breath. “A different kind of sunrise… I like that.”
By the time the nurses come to take Charlie to the nursery for a few hours, so Beatrice can get some rest, she’s written the chorus to a song about a different kind of sunrise that’s so beautiful it brings tears to my eyes.
But if the nurses are surprised by a dad getting sappy after the birth of his baby, they don’t show it. In fact, they seem pleased with how emotional Beatrice and I both are, congratulating us in warm whispers as they wheel Charlie away, promising to bring her back as soon as she wakes up and is ready to nurse again.
“An embarrassment of riches,” Beatrice murmurs against my chest when we’re alone in bed. “I have an embarrassment of riches, Archer Blue. Thank you.”
“Thank you.” I kiss her forehead. “Me, too.”
She’s right.
I’ve never felt richer than I do right now.
Epilogue
Dean
My mother is a force of nature.
When Eliza Kate blows onshore, you have two choices—get on board with whatever she has planned, or get the hell out of her way.
When she blew in two months ago to help me through the most hellish time of my life, I was relieved. Now, I do my best to get out of the kitchen before she spots me by the freezer, hunting for ice cream when I’m supposed to be out “doing grown-up shit.”
“Dean Witherspoon Kate, what are you still doing in this house?” she demands, flicking on the overhead light.
I wince, cringing in the sudden glare. “Deciding that ice cream and watching The Naked Gun make me feel more like a grown-up than going out?”
“Nope! Out. Now.” She points to the door, snapping her fingers twice before pointing again. “This instant.”
I motion to my grungy brown sweater and sweatpants. “I’m not even dressed!”
“You’re a man, it’ll take you two minutes. Jeans. Black sweater. Run a little gel through your hair, and you’re out the door by eleven. You’ll pull up right when the fun is getting started.”
“How do you know when the fun gets started? When’s the last time you went to a party, Ms. Workaholic?” I ask, dancing away as she comes at me with the magazine in her hand, swatting in the general direction of my ass. “Okay! Fine, I’ll go. I’ll go.”
“Don’t just go. Go, and have a good time,” she says. “I’m old. I’ve had my share of parties, thank you very much. I was snorting cocaine off your dad’s bald head when you were just a twinkle in his balls.”
“Mom!” I shoot a pointed glance toward the stairs, where the kids are asleep. “What if the girls heard you saying that kind of thing?”
She rolls her tired blue eyes. “Oh, please. Those sweet babies have no idea what cocaine is. And when they’re old enough, I’ll tell them what it is and why it’s a bad idea. Almost as bad as marrying a man twenty years your senior, who drops dead of a heart attack while cheating on you with a girl even younger than you are.”
I close my eyes, muttering beneath my breath, “I liked it better when you were still hiding this shit.”
“Well, it’s not my fault you turned thirty-five,” she says, parking a hand between my shoulders and pushing me toward my room. “Thirty-five is old enough to handle an adult conversation. And being a single dad, and learning to live again. Frederica would want you to be happy again, baby.” She pauses in front of my door, patting my back with a firm one-two. “She wanted that before she was dead. I bet she wants it even more now that she knows how time flies.”
I sigh, but don’t argue or ask her to take the bluntness down a notch.