Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Ten seconds later, two more texts chime in.
Brooke: Actually, scratch that. I won’t get behind the mic UNTIL you deliver the goods.
Brooke: PS: Spoiler alert: Noah gets better looking every time I see him. Just WAIT until you get in here and see him too.
The Noah she is referencing is Dr. Noah Philips, a man who is a good friend of my sister’s because their dogs are the HEA version of Romeo and Juliet—also, incidentally, a long story.
And unfortunately, over the past six months, Brooke has become a broken record on all things Dr. Noah Philips and me.
Noah and I would look so good together and he’s such a good person and our souls are the perfect match—blah, blah, blah. Far too much of her energy is fixated on finding a way to be my unauthorized matchmaker.
Don’t get me wrong, I know Noah is good-looking. Everyone in his vicinity knows he’s good-looking. The man has a head full of shiny, thick, dark brown hair and the kind of blue eyes that make your bones turn to butter. Not to mention, a straight, white smile that could light up a dark room and muscles that make the quartz countertops in my New York apartment look soft.
He’s illegally attractive, a screaming success in his career, and kind. The real-life, unscripted, cheese-less version of The Bachelor.
But just like on the show, he’s not short on opportunities with the opposite sex. At any given moment, twenty-five women are undoubtedly vying for their chance to bag him.
The mere idea of him and me actually working out without carnage, catastrophe, and heartbreak? My sister is cray-cray.
I roll my eyes as I type out a response she most definitely doesn’t deserve, and I don’t have the time for.
Me: You do realize you’re pregnant and happily engaged, right? Seems like maybe you should focus on your fiancé’s nuts instead of Noah’s, you little squirrel.
Brooke: Like Chase would get mad that I’m noticing the male form. Pfft. Just yesterday, he told me what a great job I did of describing my new character’s penis. Plus, I’m not gawking for me. I’m doing this for YOU.
Chase is her fiancé and baby daddy—aka my soon-to-be brother-in-law—and her editor at Longstrand Publishing.
And he’s completely obsessed with her. Though, I guess you’d have to be to live with a person and work in the worlds they create in their books. His whole life is Brooke Baker, and in all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never heard him complain.
Chase Dawson would one hundred percent understand the ogling of Dr. Noah and, if given the opportunity, would probably help her position her chair to get a better view if she requested it.
Another text from a different sender pops onto the screen, and I close out of Brooke’s cockamamie imaginings to find a message from the one person I actually couldn’t live without. And believe me, it’s no man.
It’s Zoe Bannon. My nanny.
Zoe: I had to keep Grant home from school. He threw up right before we left the apartment. But don’t worry, he’s just running a low-grade fever now and the only casualty is my shoes.
Son of a bitch.
Running late to my eldest son’s Career Day event while my youngest son is at home puking on my nanny? You’d think this would take the cake for chaotic in my life, but sadly, it’s just another day in the life of Sammy Baker.
I groan out loud as I hurriedly type out a response—while I continue to speed walk toward the auditorium doors that are now in sight.
Me: Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Zoe! He didn’t show any signs this morning that he was feeling bad.
Zoe: It’s okay, really. Have no fear, I’m good at getting vomit out of shoes.
Me: Ugh. I can’t believe he’s sick again. Kindergarten is going to kick him out at this rate. And seriously, I’m so, SO sorry.
With my attention still on my phone, the front of my shoe snags against an uneven tile on the floor, and I barrel through the auditorium doors with all the grace of a herd of antelope falling off a cliff.
The sounds of a song from the Frozen soundtrack fill the air—yes, I recognize it—and I’m sent immediately into embracing my Anna era.
I am awkward. I am sometimes desperate. I am hopeful and brave.
Though, if I’m completely honest, I’m still convincing myself of the last two.
Thankfully, aside from three snickering girls in the back row, no one appears to notice my falling faux pas. I even manage to hold on to my phone instead of sending it careening down the aisle.
Am I…better than everyone? Ha. Kidding.
I glance down at the screen to double-check that I haven’t cracked it with my newfound superhero abilities, and instead, find that the digital clock showcases a whole seven minutes after the time I was supposed to be here.