Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“Hmm?” He kisses the top of my head.
“I got the house.” I lean away from him just enough to see his face.
“That is awesome, Maren. When do you move?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know yet. My Realtor said she’d know more on Monday.”
“Maren’s here!” Lola calls two seconds before barreling down the stairs, wide eyed and out of breath.
Ozzy jumps away from me just in time.
“Bandit’s probably under my bed. I’ll get him.” Lola runs straight to her room.
“Someday I’ll teach her manners.” Ozzy rolls his eyes.
Lola drags Bandit out from under her bed and cradles him like a baby, and for whatever weird reason, that kitten lets her hold him like that. “Maren, I really like your hair,” she says.
I quickly glance at Ozzy because he called my pigtail braids a weave. “Thank you,” I say.
Lola kisses Bandit on the head, and it will break my heart to take him from her. “My mom used to braid my hair,” she says.
“I bet your beautiful curls look amazing in a loose braid.” I smile.
She shrugs as Ozzy gathers the cat supplies. “I don’t know. Dad can’t braid and neither can Nana.”
“I just haven’t tried.” Ozzy attempts to defend himself, dumping the cat litter into a trash bag.
“He says he needs to watch a video,” Lola tries to whisper, but I know Ozzy hears her because he slowly shakes his head, tying the trash bag.
“I could teach him,” I say.
Lola perks up. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“Now?”
“Lola, it’s late,” Ozzy says.
She deflates. “It’s the end-of-the-year track-and-field day tomorrow. A lot of my friends will have their hair braided.”
“I’m excellent at ponytails,” Ozzy says, setting the bag of cat supplies by the stairs.
“What time do you leave for school?” I ask.
Lola looks to Ozzy for an answer. He eyes her as if she should know, then says, “Seven thirty.”
“I’ll be here at six thirty to braid your hair before I go to work,” I say, taking Bandit from her.
“For real?”
I chuckle. “For real.”
“Oh my gosh! Did you hear that?”
Ozzy nods. “Yes. I’m not deaf. That’s very nice of Maren.”
“Well, I’d better go so you can get to bed.” I reach for Bandit’s bag, but Ozzy picks it up.
“Lola, I’m going to help Maren take things out to her car. I expect you to be in the shower by the time I get back inside.”
“Good night, Lola,” I say.
“Good night,” she says, slapping her bare feet on the hard surface toward the bathroom.
When we reach the top of the stairs, her grandparents are nowhere in sight.
“You don’t have to braid her hair tomorrow morning. She’ll be fine in a ponytail,” Ozzy says while I shove my feet into my sneakers.
“I was going to knock on your bedroom window around six and slide into bed with you.” I glance over my shoulder at him.
Ozzy opens the front door. “I meant to say that if Lola doesn’t have her hair in braids for track-and-field day, she will be devastated.”
I step onto the porch with Bandit. “You’re such a good dad. Thinking only of your daughter.”
“What can I say? It’s part of my laser focus. Give me one sec.” Ozzy retreats to the kitchen and returns just as I reach the back of my RAV and put Bandit in his pet carrier.
“Hope is a slippery little bastard, but I’m trying to keep a grip on it,” he says, glancing around the rear of the vehicle, making a quick inspection before ducking back around the corner with me.
“How so?” I ask.
“I know there’s a lot stacked against us and whatever this is between us.” He pulls me to him by sliding his hands into my back jeans pockets. “But thinking about you—the next time I can see you, how I can sneak a few minutes alone with you, and doing little things like moving Heaven and Earth—has resurrected something in my life that I didn’t know I needed until you sent me on a scavenger hunt for tampons and toilet paper.”
I press my hands to his chest and nuzzle my face in his neck. “The only thing stacked against us is your fear. Let it go.”
He angles his head to find my lips, and we kiss. It’s slow and easy. His mouth on mine has reached a point of familiarity. Everything fits.
Bandit meows, and we laugh, ending the kiss.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” He reaches behind himself and pulls spears of asparagus from his pocket—six, to be exact. Then he digs out a note from his front pocket. “You mentioned asparagus. Correct?”
I slowly shake my head in amazement and grin.
“Finding these feral little sproutings was harder than I thought it would be,” he says.
I open the note.
Asparagus has been cultivated in the US for 150 yrs, and it can give you stinky pee if you have the gene for that. Hope you love them!