Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“Ew.”
Saving me, Cooper says, “You and your Mommy are related. What she’s saying is that we’re also related.”
“You and Mommy?”
“No . . .” His head wobbles. “Yes, but different from you and me. We come from the same family, like how you come from Mommy.”
“You, me, and Mommy are a family.”
Cooper grins. “Yes, we are. I’m your dad.”
Reed looks at me like he’s bored, and he’s definitely antsy. “Will you do Dad Duty at school?”
“What’s Dad Duty?” Cooper asks.
Feeling a huge sense of relief to get that secret released, I reply, “Dad Duty is when the dads volunteer at the school. It’s a shift once a month during lunch. You play four square or a game of basketball. You just spend time with all the kids.”
“Mom comes, but I got laughed at last time.”
“You fill in at Dad Duty?” Cooper asks, already smiling.
“A lot of the fathers in the community can’t take off work. Since I always pulled double duty anyway, I wanted to be there for the kids. And I have a really good free throw. The kids are impressed when I nail it.”
“Oh, yeah?” He laughs. “You’ll have to show me sometime.” He lifts Reed and angles him his way. “I’ll be at Dad Duty every month, but what do you think about me being on Dad duty every day in your life?”
“All the time?”
“All the time.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
“Can I call you Dad?”
That’s the punch in the heart neither of us saw coming. The tears escape before I can stop them. Cooper isn’t faring much better, but his tears never leave his eyes. He says, “I’d really like that.” He wraps his arms around him, and they hug so tight that I think I’m going to need the Jaws of Life to separate them.
“Do I get to be a Haywood, too?”
Cooper taps his nose. “You always were, but if you want to add that into your name, maybe somewhere in the middle, we can ask Mom.”
I ask, “We don’t have to make a decision today, but do you like Reed Haywood Salenger or Reed Salenger Haywood?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. It’s a lot to figure out in one day, but no matter what he decides, Cooper’s right. He’s always been a part of both of us.
Popping off Cooper’s knee, Reed holds his hand out. When Cooper takes hold, Reed looks up and asks, “Can we get cotton candy, Daddy?”
Oh lordy, this kid. He knows how to work a situation to his advantage. I’m not sure if he gets that from Cooper or me, but I have a feeling we’re in trouble when he becomes a teen.
“Absolutely.”
Six Months Later
“You have a buyer,” Kathy whispers, pointing across the room. “Blond hair. Rich. Willing to spend her husband’s fortune to get back at him for having a mistress.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “That’s a lot of information. How do you know?”
She nods twice toward Louise. “She’s the mistress.”
I gasp, covering my mouth.
Kathy shrugs. “She also wants to build her art collection of up-and-comers.”
“I’m an up-and-comer.” I laugh at my joke, but when the gallery owner doesn’t, I ask, “Which photo is she interested in?”
“COOPER.” She shrugs again. “Guess she likes looking at your husband. A revenge purchase I can back. He’s also a gorgeous man.”
“But COOPER and REED aren’t for sale. It even says it on the placard.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Rich people think everything’s for sale. I’ve already told them so. Maybe figure out a price and throw it out to see if she bites.”
Hmpf. Not sure I like putting a price on my husband. I toss around numbers in my head as I cross the gallery, but nothing sticks. It feels dirty, like something his parents would do, and did.
The woman is dressed in designer clothes from head to toe. I can tell by the crazy mixture of patterns. Her thin legs dip from the knee-length skirt, and she’s in platform red heels. It’s a look I could never pull off but go her! “Hi, I heard you were interested in—”
“Cooper. Yes, very interested. How’d you get his picture?”
“I took it.” I stand beside her, staring at the matching pair of photographs—Reed and Cooper—peas in a pod and my little family. But her voice triggers bad memories of pearls in the grass. I look at her. Fuck.
Camille looks the same, maybe a little tired, but it’s after seven o’clock. Maybe she had a long day . . . or maybe her life decisions are catching up with her, and the fillers aren’t strong enough to fight against the evil polluting her pores. I wince, hating that I just sank to that level of depravity.
She rotates as if her neck doesn’t twist to the side. I rub the side of mine as she looks me over disapprovingly.
I could tug at my silk tank to straighten it or try to pull my jeans over the little muffin top I’ve developed, but why? Because she doesn’t approve? Camille Arden doesn’t matter to me. The people in those photos do.