Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Neither of us takes long to wash up, and when we are done, we both dry off and I put on a thin lounge set—matching shorts and a tank top—while he steps into a pair of boxers and loose shorts that hang low on his hips.
“What time do you have to leave?” I ask him quietly when we’re both dressed.
“I need to be to the station by nine, so I’ll leave about eight thirty.”
I glance at the clock on the microwave when we get into the kitchen and start the pot of coffee I set up last night.
It’s seven now, so I have an hour and a half with him. Not long, but I’ll take what I can get. The same as last night, when he showed up at close to nine, and after eating some of the leftover dinner I made, he told me he had some work to do. Try as I might, I couldn’t stay awake. I ended up falling asleep curled against him while he worked on his laptop in my bed, and I felt bad for passing out on him, but waking up with him wrapped around me made it obvious that he didn’t care.
“Mommy!” Kingston calls out, and I walk to the edge of the kitchen and look around the corner just in time to see him sleepily stumble out of his room, dragging his blanket behind him.
“Morning, lovie.” I meet him halfway and pick him up. “Did you sleep okay?” He nods, pressing his face into my neck. I swear there is nothing better than him when he’s warm and cuddly after just waking up.
Carrying him down the hall, I know the instant he sees Tucker. He wiggles in a silent demand to be put down, and the moment his feet touch the floor, he runs to where Tucker is and holds his hands in the air.
“You’re here,” he says happily, and Tucker lifts him off his feet.
“I came to have breakfast with you,” he tells him, and Kingston wraps his arms around his neck, giving him a hug that makes my heart melt.
“Can we have pancakes?” Kingston looks at me. “Wif chocolate chips?”
“You can have pancakes.” I take the cup of coffee Tucker passes me. “But I’m not sure we have any chocolate chips left. Remember when I caught you eating them like they were candy?”
“They are candy.” He grins at me like he still thinks it’s funny.
“He’s not wrong,” Tucker says, and I glare at him, which makes Kingston giggle. “Just saying, babe.”
“Whatever.” I set down my coffee and go to the pantry to grab the box of pancake mix and what’s left of the chocolate chips, which isn’t much at all.
“Can we go back to your house?” Kingston asks Tucker as I start to get everything ready to make breakfast.
“Any time you want, you can come over.” Tucker places my boy’s bottom on the counter next to where I put my mixing bowl.
“Really?” His eyes widen. “Can we wiv there with you?”
My stomach bottoms out, and I start to say something. What that something is, I have no idea, because Kingston is just a kid and doesn’t really understand that living with someone is a huge deal. Heck, just staying the night with someone is a huge deal, especially when you have a child.
“We can get a bed for the other room, and you and Mom can stay the night whenever you like,” Tucker tells him before I get my mouth to work, and my heart starts to gallop inside my chest when he looks over at me and continues talking. “I think Winter still has her twin-size bed in storage. I’ll ask Miles about it today.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say quietly. I don’t want him to think just because Kingston wants something that he has to make it happen. Him staying here is one thing, but us in his space is something totally different—or at least in my head it is. I don’t want us to intrude on his space or to overwhelm him.
“I like the idea of you and him staying with me,” he says firmly but sweetly.
“Okay,” I agree, and his face gets soft before he reaches over to wrap his hand around the side of my neck, using it to pull me over so he can kiss the side of my head.
“So, tell me what you’re learning in school,” Tucker prompts, and Kingston’s shoulders slump forward. “It’s not real school. All we do is pway.”
“Don’t you guys work on your ABCs and counting?” I raise a brow.
“I alweady know those; I knew dose since I was two.”
Okay, he’s not wrong. We’ve been practicing ABCs, counting, colors, and shapes since he was old enough to sit up. I’m pretty sure I have a million videos on my phone of him singing his ABCs and numbers.