Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Hey, you.” I smile at her. “Thank you. I’m sure they love them. I appreciate your hanging out with them while I was gone. Hope you’ll still come over now that I’m back.”
“I have a room at Uncle Archer’s house…”
“He’s gonna live with me…you can have a room at mine too.”
Meadow grins, and I feel like a million fucking dollars.
After all the hellos, everyone congregates in the living room. The house smells like some kind of stew, which is perfect for the cold weather outside.
Simone is sitting in an armchair, holding a little bundle in her arms.
“Go say hello,” Cora says, giving me the push I need.
I walk over and kneel beside her. Hazel’s got tons of dark hair, curly like her mom’s, now that Simone has taken it out of her braids. She’s sleeping, her little eyes closed, cheeks squishy.
“Meet your niece, Uncle Easton,” Simone tells me. It’s been said before, but hearing it now, in this situation, makes my head snap up, looking at Cora and Archer, at their parents, these people who have so lovingly taken me into their family.
“I…thank you. She’s beautiful.” My eyes tear up.
“Do you want to hold her?” Cora asks.
“Can I?”
“Of course,” Simone replies.
I’ve never held a baby before, and Simone stands so I can sit, then puts her in my arms. “She’s so small. I’m scared I’ll hurt her.”
“You won’t,” Cora insists.
I lean over, smell her baby scent, kiss her forehead…think of Ella…and smile. She loved baby dolls when we were kids, used to talk about being a mom, and though she’s not speaking to me in my head, I feel her, know she’s smiling and happy for me.
I hold the baby for a long while. Everyone talks around me and to me, but I’m distracted by the little bundle in my arms. She’s so small, so sweet. She smells like the future, and I just want to watch her breathe.
Frank asks about Morgan’s bar, and I listen, still looking at the baby.
“I think it’s going to be real good,” Morgan says.
“He got a surprise delivery of these incredible handcrafted barstools,” Dusty says. “We have no idea where they’re from, but they’re perfect.”
My head snaps up, my gaze landing on Rhett. I remember the table in his house…when he came out covered in sweat and sawdust…and I know they’re from him. That he’s…making furniture? It’s so far removed from what I ever imagined for Rhett. I didn’t even know he likes working with his hands, but I know to the marrow of my bones that it’s true, that he makes things and that he did this for Morgan.
I open my mouth, but he gives a small shake of his head, and I close it again.
“They’re my favorite thing in the place,” Morgan says. “I wish I knew where they came from so I could thank whoever sent them, maybe order some more products.”
As much as I want Rhett to get the credit for it, and want to ask him a million questions, I don’t. I let him have his secrets. They’re his to share.
When I look down, Hazel’s looking at me with these big brown eyes. She wiggles. “Oh, you’re awake.” I freeze, unsure what to do. Please don’t cry, please don’t cry, please don’t cry.
She smiles. I touch her little hand, and she wraps it around my finger, then smiles again.
“She likes you.” Archer sits on the arm of the chair.
“I like her too.”
He kisses the top of my head, and we sit there together, admiring the baby, talking to each other and just enjoying her. It’s not long before Daphne says dinner’s done, and Hazel is getting hungry, so I give her back to Simone so she can feed her.
“I’d let you do this part if you could,” she teases because she’s breastfeeding.
Conversation is loud and happy as we eat the stew Daphne made. They ramble about Archer’s upcoming EMT program and act in a way I’ve never seen my family do. Rhett is the quietest, and when I look over, I notice Meadow is sitting beside him, speaking to him softly. Cass is on the other side of her, watching his daughter interact with him.
When we finish lunch, Meadow says, “Ooh, it’s snowing again,” and a thought flickers in my head…snowball fights with Ella. I haven’t had one since I did it with her.
I take Archer’s hand. “Come outside with me.” We put on our coats and gloves. He tugs my beanie onto my head for me, taking care of people he loves the way he’s so good at.
“Where are we going?”
“To have a snowball fight.” My stomach twists, and I see the light go on in his eyes. He knows what this is, what it means.
“Good boy,” he says softly, just for me. I still like that, still want it. Want to be Archer’s good boy.