Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Brent.” Tears roll down her cheeks but she doesn’t attempt to wipe them away.
I know right in this moment, I’d sell my soul to never see another tear on her pretty face.
“I see the pain in your eyes, Sunshine. I hear it in your voice. It’s there almost constantly hidden behind a fake smile. I want to be the one to change it for you. I want real smiles, and laughter, and contented sighs right before you fall asleep in my arms.”
“This is too much,” she whispers, her head shaking a little.
“I know. Believe me, baby. I know it’s too much. And it’s too soon, but it doesn’t change a damn thing. I can’t say that it’s love, and I won’t. That’s too much pressure, but I know it can be. I know I can make you happy.”
“You said own,” she counters, her eyes locked on mine as if she expects me to correct that wording.
I nod. “Mine. Mine to care for. Mine to protect. Mine to defend. Mine.”
Her eyes flutter closed, some of the tension draining from her body. I press tighter against her, placing my cheek against hers, relishing in the soft whisper of breath escaping her lips.
“I’m scared.”
“I am, too,” I confess.
I pull her to me, my arms around her back and just hold her against me. We stay like that for several long minutes, her sinking in tighter with each breath she takes.
“Brent, I—”
“Mommy?”
I smile against the side of her face. “Go help him, and I’ll work on breakfast.”
She still doesn’t look exactly ecstatic when she pulls back, but her eyes aren’t darting everywhere either as if she’s looking for an escape route.
I brush my lips against hers before giving her enough space to leave the room and look after Ryder.
I’ve never been the best cook, but breakfast is my jam. I have the ability to make an egg any way someone would desire it. Bacon? Always crispy, never burned.
When I get to the kitchen, I pull out everything I’ll need to make an amazing breakfast—one that might even impress Ryder. The boy is smart being leery of me. Even at five, that instinct is there to protect his mother rather than just going with the flow. She doesn’t need protection from me, of course, but there may come a day when he’ll encounter someone she will.
The chocolate chip pancakes and bacon are done by the time Ryder and Sunshine appear in the kitchen.
“Hey, little man,” I say to Ryder as he struggles to pull out one of the heavy chairs at the kitchen table.
I step back, blocking Sunshine’s path when she goes over to help him.
“He can do it,” I tell her, angling my head and indicating for her to just watch.
Sure enough, he twists his little face up but manages to pull the chair back. When he realizes it’s a little too far, he climbs back down, pushes it forward another inch or so, and climbs back up.
I look over at Sunshine, wondering if she’s going to be mad that I stepped in, but she’s walking toward him with a grin on her face.
“When did you get so strong?”
He beams at her, lifting his little arm and flexing his muscles.
“How do you want your eggs, Ryder?”
He looks at his mom before looking in my direction.
“Like clouds,” he finally answers, and my heart grows a couple inches in diameter. It’s the first words he’s spoken to me. “But I don’t like the dirt in it.”
I tilt my head, looking at Sunshine for the translation.
“Pepper,” she says with a chuckle. “You don’t like pepper in your scrambled eggs.”
The eggs cook up quickly, and Ryder is already digging into his second pancake when I bring them to the table.
“Milk or juice?”
He looks up at me with a hint of skepticism in his eyes as he chews, a hint of chocolate from the chips in the pancake on his chin.
“Is there apple juice?”
“There is.”
Sunshine clears her throat.
“I’d like apple juice, please.”
I give him a nod and go to get him some juice.
I hear her quietly thanking him for his manners as I grab the juice for him.
I almost ask Sunshine if she likes her eggs fertilized, but that’s a little too close to home, considering we went at it yesterday without even considering using a condom. The thought of her getting pregnant doesn’t freak me out the way it probably should. Whatever this is building between us is new, and I know we need to give it time to breathe before adding something that could change the trajectory of how it was meant to be, but I’m not exactly freaking out over the possibility either.
“What kind of eggs?” I ask her.
“You don’t have to make me anything.”
Jesus, this woman has a lot to learn.
“It’s gross but her eggs have that yucky orange part that spreads all over her plate. I’m glad that part is left out of mine,” Ryder supplies helpfully.