Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Moving to the door, he looks back over his shoulder at me. I ask, “Is there any other option?”
His chest fills, and his shoulders rise before he exhales slowly. He doesn’t bother hiding the disappointment. I’d know that look anywhere. I’m used to it from my father. Noah’s eyes leave mine, and he walks out the door again without another word shared between us.
I’d say that’s calculated on his part, but a feeling in my gut has me believing it was a genuine reaction. How did Noah manage to turn this around so I’m feeling sorry for him?
Don’t second-guess yourself, Liv. I can’t take the risk. I won’t lower my guard to make him feel better. Most importantly, I refuse to leave my son’s future to chance with a man I once barely connected with.
“Define rash for me again?” Frustration rolls through me as I push my apartment door closed behind me and set my purse down on the bench in the entry. I kick off my shoes and continue down the hall.
“Oh no,” echoes down the hall, my mom’s voice reaching me before I see them. As soon as I enter the living room, my mom looks up from the floor. With her perfectly coiffed brown bob and light touch makeup, my mom is always put together and tasteful. Wearing ankle-length pants in navy and a shock of pink sweater, she puts me to shame when I’m home with Maxwell. “What happened?”
My gaze pivots to my baby, who squeals in delight when he sees me. Best welcome home ever. While I wash my hands, he balances vicariously while holding the edge of the couch. “Look at you.” He’s pure happiness for my soul. “Who’s my big boy?” I ask, drying my hands quickly so I can hug my little munchkin.
I slip off my jacket, draping it over the back of the couch as I rush around, making sure not to disrupt the balance he looks so proud of accomplishing. Sitting on the couch, I bend to lift him in my arms and smother his chubby cheeks in kisses before embracing him. I close my eyes, soaking in his goodness and reveling in his baby smell and the way his fingers twist in my hair . . . just before he tugs.
When I pull back, his toothy grin is on full display and his eyes are bright just looking at me. “Everyone should be this lucky,” I say, planting another kiss on him.
“He does give great greetings.”
“He sure does.” His smile fills every gray day with pure sunshine. “Has he eaten?”
She reaches over and tickles his belly. “He’s eaten, we went for a walk around the apartment, and I suspect he’ll want some playtime before bed.” Getting to her feet, Mom kisses my head. “Tell me what happened at work.”
Maxwell loves to bounce on the couch cushions, and it keeps him busy while we talk. “Noah Westcott is just so infuriating, Mom.”
“Most men are, honey.” She laughs, but I’m not sure she’s joking. She and my dad have been divorced for more than five years, but she seems content not dating. She could and gets out regularly if she’s not stretching the truth. I believe her. She’s a former beauty queen and was modeling when she met my dad. She’s also been mistaken as my baby’s mother. I’d like to think someone was flattering her and that we don’t look the same age, but she does look amazing and her zest for life keeps her youthful.
My dad is the opposite. You’d think he was twenty years older than his age. She kept him younger.
She comes to sit next to me, taking hold of Maxwell from behind to keep him bouncing and laughing and giving my arms a much-needed reprieve from the workout. Leaning to the side, she looks at me. “Did you say Westcott?”
“Yeah, that’s his last name.” I rest back, tapping on his toes which elicits a joyous laugh. “Why?”
“There aren’t many Westcotts around, but I know a family. They’re from Beacon, but they have a home here. Delta Westcott works with a lot of charitable organizations. Lovely woman.”
Maxwell flops on his butt, so I lean over him and blow raspberries on his belly. Looking up, I say, “I’m sure that’s just a coincidence. That last name doesn’t seem that unique.”
“I’m sure it’s not.”
Setting him back on his play mat on the floor, I sit beside him but turn to my mom. “Doesn’t seem like he’s willing to quit, even when I laid out the facts.”
“The facts being?”
“How his presence affects me professionally.” I shrug as if I’m justifying it to myself. “We have a past, a brief history—”
“A baby together.”
My heart stops, an ache replacing the beats that existed prior in my chest. I look at my baby with worry taking over again. A dry throat causes me to clear it, but it doesn’t seem to help. “I need water.” I get up and move into the kitchen. I can feel my mom’s eyes on me, so I huff. “Just say it, Mom.”