Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“Yeah. We will.” I head for the closet, shrug off my towel, and start the process of getting dressed with a renewed sense of happiness. I know I’m antsy, but it’s all going to work out. Tomorrow, I’ll get the onesie and do the whole balloons and flower and cake thing I’ve envisioned in my mind, and then, we can both be in on the baby secret.
We can both be excited for the little life growing inside me. The little baby that’s ours.
I’m just sliding on my bra and underwear when Clay starts talking to me over the running shower water.
“Did I tell you that Breezy is having our Thanksgiving dinner catered by some renowned chef from New York?” he calls out.
“She’s not cooking?”
“Breezy is a full-on city girl, Jose. There’s no way she’s cooking.”
“How did you find all this out?”
“I ran into her at Melba’s bakery yesterday. She was picking up her ginormous dessert order because she’s invited half the damn town.”
“For real?” I respond as I slide my pants on. “Does Bennett know that?”
“No.” Clay laughs his ass off. “But man, I can’t wait to see his face when everyone shows up.”
“Everyone?” I question, looking toward the shower. “Who all did she invite?”
“Earl, Pete, Marty Higgins and his wife Sheila, Reverend Bob, Harold Metcalf and his wife Carol, Todd, Melba…pretty much everyone besides that busybody Betty Bagley.”
“Oh my God, Clay!” My eyes go wide as I slip on my brown boots. “Ben is going to lose his shit.”
“Yeah.” Clay laughs again, and the water shuts off. “It’s going to be fantastic.”
If there is one thing that Bennett Bishop is known for, it’s being the world’s biggest sourpuss. The only person who plays the exception to that rule is his daughter Summer. That big man melts like fucking chocolate for his little girl.
Once I’m fully dressed, I stand in front of the floor-length mirror in Clay’s bedroom and give my outfit—cream wool pants, warm chocolate-brown sweater, and my favorite nude ankle boots—another once-over. My Grandma Rose would be adorably annoyed that I’m breaking the “no white after Labor Day” rule, and that makes me feel like giggling and crying at the same time.
God, I miss her. It’s only been two months since she passed away, but it feels like much longer. I guess when so many monumental things happen, it compounds the feeling of time.
I lift up my sweater to look at my barely there belly. There’s a baby in there. A whole-ass baby is inside me. Grandma Rose would be absolutely beside herself with excitement.
Last night, I Googled what a baby looks like at twelve weeks. He or she is the size of a lime, has little fingers and toes, has fully formed organs, and is starting to make spontaneous movements. Movements that in a few months I’ll actually be able to feel.
Reading the description made it all feel real.
When Clay strides out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, I quickly shrug my sweater back down and pretend to be fluffing my hair in the mirror.
“You look beautiful,” he says, and he wraps his arms around my waist.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He presses a kiss to the crook of my neck.
“Is it just me or did your tits get bigger?” His pesky fingers move up my belly and find my boobs, giving them a gentle squeeze. “And your ass…” He wolf-whistles and leans back to look at my butt. “Damn, my wife is the sexiest, prettiest, most fucking perfect thing on the planet.” He grinds his now hard cock into my butt. “God, Josie. Stop making me hard,” he teases. “I don’t have time to fuck you before we head to dinner.”
I laugh and swat him away. “Stop being so horny.”
“Blame my hot, sexy wife. I can’t help it.”
I roll my eyes. “How about you get dressed so we can get this show on the road?”
Clay grabs me by the waist again, spins me around, and dips my body down as he presses a passionate kiss to my lips. It’s so deep and all-consuming that my head spins.
I’m half tempted to suggest we can be late to dinner, but he sets me back to my feet and heads for his closet to grab some clothes.
“Give me two minutes, and I’ll be ready to go!” he calls over his shoulder. “And we’re going to have to take your car. I need to get my truck looked at. The damn thing almost didn’t start up for me last night.”
“Fine, but I’m driving.”
“You don’t want me to drive your Civic?”
“Hell no,” I retort without hesitation. It’s not that Clay is a reckless driver, but more the fact that he’s hard on cars. Honestly, I’m not surprised his truck doesn’t want to start. He drives that fucker like he’s trying to break it. Also, that Civic was purchased at Grandma Rose’s urgence in her will that I didn’t even know she had. I was the only person named, and not only did she leave me her house, but she left me some money too. A good portion of which was set aside for the very purpose of me buying myself a more reliable car.