Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I look at him over my shoulder, and he holds up his hands. “Don’t worry. I didn’t try to save the day by making sure you had food and caffeine. That was all your mom’s doing.”
“I don’t remember you being so annoying,”
“I don’t remember you being cute when you’re annoyed,” he shoots back, and that immature part of me that had a crush on him when I was a kid preens under the idea of him thinking I’m cute.
“Whatever,” I sigh and listen to him laugh as I walk into his house, with both Lacy and Gemma coming with me.
When I get next door a few minutes later, the front door is wide open, and I can hear one of the Christian rock groups my mom likes as it plays softly somewhere inside.
“Hey, honey.” Mom turns toward me when I step over the threshold, her eyes scanning me in a way that I know she’s making sure I’m still in one piece.
“Sorry, I wasn’t here sooner.” I walk to where she’s standing and kiss her cheek.
“You needed sleep.” She repeats what my dad said, and Bax reiterated. “You have food and an iced coffee in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” I look around the room. With the largest pieces of my furniture out of the house, things don’t look as daunting as they did yesterday. But still, there are lots of boxes. “So, which of these have you gone through so far?” I start to take off my hoodie so I can help.
“Nope.” She shakes her head at me and points toward the kitchen. “Go eat first, and then you can help.”
“I’m okay.”
“That’s good, but you still need to eat something.”
“Mom—”
“Eat.” The one word is spoken in that tone that lets me know she’s not going to let up.
“Fine.” I walk into the kitchen, grab the paper bag sitting on the counter, take out the breakfast sandwich, then pick up my iced coffee and carry both back into the living room. When my mom meets my gaze, I take a very unladylike bite and watch her roll her eyes.
“I’ve sorted through all of those.” She motions to the boxes stacked up near the door. “Most of it is kitchen stuff.” Her eyes come to me. “I don’t know why you have so many things to cook with when you have obviously been living on takeout for the past few years.”
“I haven’t been living on takeout.” I don’t roll my eyes, even though I want to.
“The abnormal amount of plastic to-go containers you have from fast food places says you’re a liar.”
“I just feel bad throwing them out.” I shrug, taking a bite.
She nods. “I’ll take them to the homeless shelter downtown next time I go. They might be able to use them there.”
“Sure.” I take a sip of my coffee, which is a little watered down but still makes me inwardly sigh with happiness.
“The boxes over there seem to be clothes and shoes,” she tells me, and I nod while taking another bite of my sandwich. “And that is just stuff you’ll have to go through yourself.” She points at a stack of four smaller boxes.
“You’ve been busy,” I mumble around a mouthful.
“Dad and I got here at nine.”
Explains the melted state of the ice in my coffee.
I cringe. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She eyes me closely. “How are you feeling? I know last night must have been scary.”
“It was, but honestly, Bax came over right after it happened, so I was okay,” I assure her.
She looks relieved. “I’m glad he was next door and heard the glass break.”
“Me too,” I agree, and her eyes begin to roam over my face like she’s inspecting every detail of my features. “What?”
“You’re all grown up,” she says like she just now noticed that I’m not a little girl anymore, which is weird.
“Yeah,” I concur softly.
“You’re a very beautiful woman.”
“Where is this coming from?” I want to laugh—not because she’s being funny but because I feel slightly uncomfortable with how she seems to scrutinize me.
“Nowhere.”
“Mom?”
“Never mind.” She waves a hand between us. “It’s just something your dad said.”
“About what?” Now, my heart is starting to speed up its beating with my growing anxiety.
She glances toward the door, then lowers her voice. “About Bax.”
“What about him?” My brows draw together.
“That he—”
“Can we start taking all these boxes?” Bax’s voice comes from behind me, cutting Mom off and making me jump. I spin around to face him, feeling like I just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar, even though I know I wasn’t doing anything wrong. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine,” I mumble, and he looks from me to Mom, then back again.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I shift on my feet, then glance at my mom. “All of that is kitchen stuff, right?”
“Yep,” she chirps, not hiding her own guilt very well.