Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“Have you actually talked to him since he called it off?” Posie pushes the penguin wrapping paper in my direction for Nolan’s grill related gift. “You did brag that you two had a connection. Maybe that’s the reason why they cancelled? Because it would be wrong to marry her when he has feelings for you?”
Her adorable optimism is what leads me to keeping my mouth clamped shut.
“If only,” my boyfriend’s unhappy ex grunts. “Supposedly she’s pregnant, and he wants to wait until after they decide what to do with the baby.”
Dread dribbles itself down my spine despite my resistance.
How does he know I’m pregnant?
Did someone tell him?
Did he hear it?
See it?
How does he have that information?
How long has he had it?
Did he see us that day at the clinic?
Has he somehow hacked into our phones?
Emails?
The fucking medical portal?
Before Posie can ask any follow up questions, the door to the shop is swung open once more, although this time it reveals two panicked faces, one of which I know very well and the other that I’m surprised took him this long to come check on me.
“Miss Ripley,” Post cautiously begins at the same time Kid’s fright-filled expression leans over his shoulder. “We need you to come with us.”
There’s no stopping worry from deepening.
“We’ve found a body that needs identification.”
Chapter 20
Nolan
The overly attractive saleswoman leans slightly forward to give us a better view down her white, button up shirt at the same time she asks, “Would you like me to giftwrap these?”
“Yes, he would,” Garcia instantly claims on my behalf, grin growing obnoxiously charming. “He would love that.”
I let my head slowly turn his direction in silent question.
“And I’m sure you have the perfect paper, ribbon combo for these, don’t you, Monique?”
She giggles.
Ruffles her long chestnut hair.
Giggles again and flirtatiously coos, “I have the perfect combo for many things, Mr. Garcia.”
“You can just call me Garcia.”
“You can just call me Mon.”
“And you can just throw that shit in a bag,” I interject on a sardonic smile. “Someone will wrap it later.”
“Who?” My oldest friend challenges on a quirked eyebrow. “It damn sure won’t be you. You can barely tie a tie.”
“Then you.”
“We both know that’s not happening.”
Fucker was all too willing to jump at the chance to go Christmas shopping with me and pick out the most expensive shit possible yet can’t lift a literal finger when I need a different type of help?
He’s lucky he needs all those fingers to file the paperwork that’s getting him paid and my family a new fucking house.
“Val.”
“Your girlfriend?” curiously questions Monique, directly to Garcia.
“Sister.”
The bashful beam she presents has me immediately rolling my eyes.
He was never good at being a passenger.
Even when his ass volunteered to be one, he still ended up being the main driver while I had to just go along for whatever ride and keep whoever else was around occupied while he figured out how to hotwire them out of there.
Looking back?
It probably saved my ass from more than just a few hangovers and trips to the emergency clinic due to some uncomfortable itching.
But right now?
Right now, I need him to just put his shit in park and make sure I’m not going completely off the map with these purchases.
I’ve never done anything like this.
I…honestly never saw myself doing anything like it either.
Then again, I never pictured falling in love.
Having a baby.
Family.
An actual life.
“And Val’s not giftwrapping shit either,” Garcia declares when his glare finds mine again.
“She could.”
“She won’t.”
“She might.”
“She can’t.” Amusement doesn’t hesitate to hope into his expression. “Let’s just say…there’s a reason why Santa only brought his shit in giftbags to the Garcia household each year. An inability to cover shit in paper, tape, and bows is hereditary.”
Rather than continue what’s clearly becoming a pointless conversation, I reach for my wallet while surrendering to the saleswoman, “Yeah. Go ahead and add giftwrapping to the bill.”
“It’ll be worth it,” he promises on a cheeky wink.
Easy for him to fucking say.
He’s never skidded away from spending this many zeroes at one time.
“In fact, let me pay for the giftwrapping,” the man who’s basically a brother to me insists to Monique. “I’ll take that and you,” he gestures a pointed finger towards her, “to dinner tonight.”
His continued pussy trolling invites me to check my cell in hopes of finding a reason to rush this shit along.
“How do you feel about Italian?”
“I um…” the machine dinging for me to insert my card interrupts her response as well as my phone retrieval. “I love it.”
“White or red?”
“White.”
“Then I expect to see you in red,” Garcia arrogantly proclaims split seconds prior to an error sound blearing from the machine.
Seeing my card declined instantaneously pulls my brow tightly together. “What the fuck?”
“Problem?” He cautiously ponders while peering over.
“There shouldn’t be.” Our eyes lock. “I should have way more than enough. This shit wasn’t window shopping gone fucking wrong. I…fucking…planned…for these.”