Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“All set?”
“Yes.” The tail end of her word comes out like a hiss with her little lisp. “I hungry.” She holds her hand out for me to take and then leads me out of Jameson’s bedroom. A good thing because his woodsy scent is doing dangerous things to my senses.
“What do you want to do after breakfast? Well, after you get dressed and we do your hair.” We make it to the end of the hallway. JoJo lets go of my hand, darting to the remote on the coffee table to turn on the television.
“Toons!” I guess that settles that. She’s going to watch cartoons, and I’m going to make breakfast. On the counter, there are various things spread out. If I’m cooking, the first order of business is at least picking up. I start on my task, doing a search through the drawers to get myself acclimated as I put away a rogue cord, a few pens, and a notepad. The rest are cups and sippy cups; those go in the sink for now. Then I’m going after the ingredients while I keep an eye on Josephine.
“Are you thirsty?” I call out, opening the fridge. There’s milk, orange juice, and apple juice.
“Juju, pwease,” JoJo asks, not getting up from her spot on the couch. There’s a blanket pulled over her body, and her thumb is in her mouth.
“Apple?” I question. She nods vigorously as I get to work on preparing her drink and pulling out the ingredients for French toast. “Okay, JoJo, what else do you want with breakfast?”
“Woobly, uh…”—she pulls her thumb out of her mouth—“eggs and berries!” Hmm, woobly eggs, that’s a new one for me.
“Does daddy mix the eggs a lot or a little?” I feel like I’m asking a million questions to a toddler when I should have asked her father instead. See what I mean? That man has me losing what little brain cells I have.
“A wot,” Josephine says around her thumb. Scrambled it is. The berries are easy to decipher with the clear containers in the fridge. Honestly, I’m pretty impressed with how Jameson has everything organized in the fridge. Shaun would never. Hell, the only reason his house is clean is because of the weekly cleaning company. Maybe Jameson does the same thing. The thought of him pushing a vacuum or using a feather duster literally has me trying to contain the giggle bubbling up in my chest. I can imagine trying to explain the reason behind my laughter to Josephine, and trust me, kids have no filter, and she’s no doubt run to her dad and let him know we were talking about him.
I get the griddle out and make work of getting it hot while using as few dishes as possible. There’s a reason why any house I’ve ever lived in was always cleaned, only needing to deep clean every couple of weeks. I learned from my mom to clean as you go along, use as little as possible, and you won’t have to spend a full day scrubbing a house from top to bottom. I crack the eggs, preserving the majority of them for her scrambled eggs, which I’ll have as well. No need in making two separate meals. Then I start on the French toast.
“JoJo, you want to help me flip the toast?” I ask, unsure if she helps out with her dad or Nan. Her eyes are glued to the television. I’m kind of wondering if she’ll hear or acknowledge me. I dredge the bread through the egg while waiting for a response before plopping it on the griddle.
“Me, help!” I look up and watch as she flips to her stomach, kicks her feet, and slides off the couch. Then she’s running as fast as she can, her head out in front of her body like it’s propelling her. I probably should have had her change out of her footed pajamas and put her hair up so it’s not in her face. The chill still lingered in the morning air, so I decided against it.
“Of course, you can help. Let me grab a chair.” Jameson and Josephine could really use one of those stool things that has bars all the way around them so she can’t fall. Since I don’t see one, I grab the chair, and she meets me at the kitchen island when I’m ready.
“Up, pwease.” JoJo lifts her arms in the air, and I scoop her up and place her on the chair. My hands stay put until I know she’s steady on her feet. I stay beside her, handing her the spatula.
“Do you know how to do this?” Her hair answers before her head with the way her curls bounce every which way.
“I help Nan.” She’s bound and determined to do it on our her own, her tongue out on her upper lip as she chases the bread until it hits the lip of the griddle, the spatula sliding under. “I did, I did!” with one hand on top of the other, she turns her whole body as she executes the flip. We repeat the process until everything is done. For the eggs, I let her whip them up until they’re nice and fluffy, then throw them on the griddle while she plates the fruit of her choice. It doesn’t take long before our breakfast is done. So far, today has been easy, and I’ll have no problem helping Jameson with Josephine, even if it’s only a couple of hundreds of dollars a week. It’ll be perfect while I get For The Moments Photography settled into a new town, drum up new customers, and feed my ever-growing iced coffee addiction to The Java Hut.