Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Brooke looks half-baked on her way to saying something else about how the right person helps your life, but she stops herself. Evidently, my face is correctly conveying how capable I feel of rage.
“Okay. Sister time, it is.” She fiddles with the edges of the quilt over her lap. “So…uh…seen any good movies lately?”
“Seriously, Brooke?”
“What? I’m rusty when it comes to everyday conversation! I spend most of my time alone with my characters! You know that.”
“You live with Chase. That doesn’t help?”
She shrugs. “He finds my psychobabble cute and endearing.”
I snort. “Of course he does.”
“Whatever. At least tell me you’re going to do something when you leave here. This has to be your first Saturday off—sans kids—in ages. You should go out. Get your nails done. Go for a walk in the park. Take yourself to dinner. Something, for Pete’s sake.”
“Yes. Yes, obviously, I’m going to do something.”
She stares at me for a good five seconds before a barking laugh barrels out of her lungs. “Oh my God! Liar! You have nothing planned, do you?”
“I’ll do something, I swear!”
“What? Tell me right now.”
“No. Stop being pushy. I’ll figure it out for myself and do something. Fun. I promise.”
Brooke hums. “O-kay.”
“I will. I’m not going to waste the night to myself. That would be dumb.”
Sure, I most definitely was going to waste it on takeout and a Netflix binge on my couch, but now, all thanks to my nosy-ass sister, I feel like I have to go out and do something.
“All right, Sammy.” She waves her index finger in my face. “Just know, I’m counting on you to get out there and get spicy. I’m an engaged, pregnant, frequently fainting woman. I can only cause so much excitement for myself.”
I pick up the remote and turn on the Soap Channel, where a full day of drama will play out right before my sister’s eyes. If she wants action, I’ll give it to her… It just won’t be coming from me. “There,” I say, nodding toward the TV and setting the remote beside her. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of excitement as mafia bosses live and die and resurrect their one true love on here. Maybe it’ll be enough to keep you entertained for a while.”
She huffs out a sigh. “I don’t even understand why I’m on bed rest in the first place.”
“It’s not really bed rest, Brookie. Just a day where Dr. Cummings suggested you stay off your feet. Apparently, your iron levels being in so much flux yesterday could make you a little weaker and unsteady. It’s just a precaution. And I know you’re going to do what you need to do to protect this baby, aren’t you?”
“I liked it better when I was the annoying one.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure you did.”
Brooke’s eyes start to look heavy as she stares at the TV, Carly and Sonny and the whole General Hospital gang lulling her into a state of twilight.
A few minutes later, I rise from my chair beside her bed and lean down to kiss her on the temple. She startles slightly, but I whisper, “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Get some rest, and call me if you need anything.”
She nods and settles back into the pillow, her soft lips curving into a small smile as her favorite mafia-style enforcer—Jason—comes on the screen.
I scoot out the bedroom door, pulling it closed behind me, and walk down the hall of Brooke and Chase’s casually modern apartment. It’s both homey and trendy in a really cozy way. I might feel badly about my own decorating skills if I didn’t know they had to hire someone to pull it off.
As it is, I’m still functioning in a lot of Brooke’s leftovers in her old place. I’m happy, though. After living with my asshole ex-husband, and then my parents, her old place is the Taj Mahal.
A vase with fresh flowers sits front and center on her kitchen island as I go to pick up my purse, the delivery card still attached and sticking in a plastic fork at the top. Even though it’s none of my business, I peruse the typed message.
“Pretty flowers for the most beautiful girl. Love, Chase,” I murmur aloud, trying not to choke on the bubble of saliva filled with longing that’s lodged itself in my throat.
Never in my life has a man said something so simplistically beautiful to me just because. Never.
My sister really did something when she wrote a whole-ass book about this guy.
With a sigh, I pick up my phone and scroll through my contacts. I don’t know that I’m looking for anything in particular, but I’ll admit to pausing a little longer on two specific numbers—Gavin Evans and Noah Philips.
Could one of them be my Chase Dawson?
No. Don’t even think about it.
Shaking my head, I close the phone app and lock the screen, grabbing my purse and my keys and locking the door behind me as I leave.