Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
“Are you real?” she mumbles. She’s shaking her head as if she can’t believe the words I’m saying. How could I not want to spend time with the twins? Not only are they a piece of her, those little girls already own two-thirds of my heart.
“Very,” I assure her.
“Cake!” Maggie calls out.
“Go on. It’s time for you to blow out your candles. Don’t forget to make a wish.”
“A wish.”
“Make it a good one.”
“I can’t think of a single thing I could wish for that I don’t have in this moment.” My chest expands and tightens at the same time. I want to make all her wishes come true.
“If you don’t want me to kiss you in front of our friends and family, you better get moving.”
“Forty, who are you kissing?” Rayne asks sleepily.
I chuckle as Briar’s eyes widen as she stands and scurries away. “No one, sweet girl.” Your momma. “Did you have a good nap?”
“I want cake,” River says, waking up.
“Yes,” Rayne answers. “Can we swim?”
“After we eat some of Mommy and Aunt Brogan’s birthday cake.”
That perks them up. They sit up and rub at their eyes.
“Okay.” They climb off the lounger and move toward the table where everyone has gathered around. Lachlan and Maddox see them, and each lift a girl into their arms so they can see what’s going on. We sing “Happy Birthday,” and then dive in to some cake and ice cream.
The rest of the day is much of the same. Good friends, good food, and lots of memories.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Briar
At ten minutes until five, I pull up outside Everlasting Ink. Forrest nailed my design on the first go. When I saw it, I cried because it was everything I hoped it would be. He texted me last night and told me he could get me in today. It’s Saturday night, but he assures me working late isn’t an issue.
I know that they usually don’t work late on Saturdays unless it’s a long-term client. Forrest is doing this for me. He knew I’d need a sitter for the girls, and he’s making the time to make this easier on me and my sister. I argued at first, telling him I could come in any evening after work, but he was insistent that tonight was perfect. How he knew that Brogan wasn’t working today is beyond me, but I’m grateful and excited to be here.
I might also be a tiny bit excited to see him. We text every day and more often than not, he calls me. However, I haven’t seen him since last weekend at my birthday party, which was held at his house.
So, here I am. I’m nervous because this is my first tattoo, but it can’t be worse than giving birth to twins, right? That’s what I keep telling myself. Reaching over to the passenger seat, I grab my purse, drop my phone inside, pick up my keys, my tumbler of water, and climb out of the car.
When I enter the shop, I notice it’s quiet, which I didn’t expect. I thought there would be at least a few straggling customers still here. Forrest is sitting behind the counter and offers me a welcoming smile.
“There she is.”
I don’t know what I expected, but it’s not for him to come rushing around the counter and wrapping me in a hug. He lifts me in the air, holding me tightly.
“I missed you,” he murmurs.
His words have my heart fluttering and my belly doing flips. When you look at Forrest, you see the ink, the hair, those mesmerizing eyes. The combination makes you think bad boy. You’re wrong. Forrest Huntley is nothing but a giant, tatted-up teddy bear, and he makes it impossible for me not to feel… something—everything where he is concerned.
He places me back on my feet, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I missed him, too, but I can’t seem to form the words. “Are you sure this is okay? I hate that you’re using your Saturday night for me.”
“Briar, if we weren’t here, we would be doing something with the girls. My Saturday night was always going to be for you.”
His words make me dizzy, but in a good way. He’s so open about wanting to spend time with me. It’s refreshing and confusing all at the same time. However, I can admit—even if just to myself—that I don’t hate it. I also don’t hate how he seems to always be thinking about my daughters and how they’ll fit into any situation.
“Thank you.”
“Let me lock the door. You can go on back to my room. It’s just the two of us here for the rest of the night.”
“Oh.” I suspected, but I wasn’t sure, and to hear him say it makes me nervous. Not because I’m afraid of being alone with him. It’s quite the opposite. I think if I let myself, it might be something I could and would crave.