Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
He searches my face for one agonizing beat, then another. “What can you offer her, other than your money?”
“A family, for starters. A home. A community of friends and family who want to see her succeed. I’ll give her all the support she needs to make her dreams come true. If she doesn’t want to teach, I’ll be there every step of the way to help her figure out what she does want to do. I’ll shoulder my fair share of the work it takes to raise our family. I’ve been doing it all on my own for years now, so I know what it takes. I also know I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, having to do it all alone. And right now, Maren is alone. So please, Mark.” My voice breaks. “Let me make this right.”
The creases in his brow begin to smooth over as he looks away. “You’re right. I do want a different life for Maren. But whatever that life ends up looking like, I want her to be happy.”
“I believe I’m the man for that job, sir—making Maren happy. I know I am.”
He looks at me again. “Prove it.”
thirty-one
. . .
Maren
At Last
I’m stepping out of the shower when there’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“Yes?”
“It’s me.” Mom cracks the door open. “I was just going to say, why don’t we go grab an early dinner downtown? Maybe some shrimp and grits at Coast?”
Furrowing my brow, I tuck the edge of my towel into the portion wrapped around my torso. “I’m not sure I’m up for that.”
“Oh, come on. It’ll be good to get out of the house for a bit. And you need to eat, honey.”
“Mom—”
“Maren.” Mom opens the door a little wider. “You can’t wallow in tears forever. I know you’re hurting, but I promise this will make you feel better.”
There’s a prickle at the top of my spine. It’s kinda weird, Mom wanting to treat me to dinner out of the blue on a Tuesday afternoon.
Then again, it has been a week since I showed up a sobbing mess on her doorstep. Doubtless she and Dad are getting sick of me moping around the house all day long. Tuck’s been sending me daily “care packages” in an obvious bid to lift my spirits. But the gifts just make me feel worse. If Tuck really cared, he would come see me.
He would apologize and explain himself and promise to never, ever hurt me again.
“I’m not hungry,” I say.
“You will be,” Mom presses. “Please? Do it for me? I’d love the company.”
Taking my brush out of the vanity’s top drawer, I sigh. “Fine.”
Mom claps her hands. “Oh, good. Why don’t you put on something nice? That cute maternity dress I got you from Target, maybe? And if we hurry, we can get whatever happy hour special Coast has today. Last time I was there, it was two-for-one roasted oysters.”
“Okay. Sure. Yeah.” I meet her eyes in the mirror. The prickle at the back of my neck intensifies. She looks . . . different. Happier, like her eyes are lit up in a way they haven’t been since I arrived.
Then again, Mom does love seafood. Oysters especially.
“Give me half an hour,” I say.
It hits me as I blow dry my hair and put on a little makeup that I haven’t really gotten dressed since I left Tuck’s house a week ago. Feels kinda nice, getting myself together. The striped body-con dress Mom got me does look cute now that I’m really showing.
I put on a pair of sneakers and waddle downstairs. Mom is putting on lipstick in the powder room.
Mom never puts on lipstick.
“Is something going on?” I blurt.
Mom just smiles, rolling the lipstick back into its shiny gold tube. “Don’t you look pretty.”
“You do too. But I feel like you’re getting really dressed up to go to Coast.” The restaurant serves some pretty excellent food, but it’s casual.
Mom gives my arms a squeeze. “Just excited to take you out on a girls’ date.” She smiles. “We’re going to have the best time ever.”
“Okay?”
She elbows me. “Ready? We should get going.”
Mom is also never in a rush. Something’s definitely up, but I’m too tired to try to figure it out as I climb into the passenger side of Mom’s Cherokee.
“Is Coast even open this early?” I ask when we pull into the parking lot at quarter past four.
Mom nods. “They’re open for lunch too, honey, remember? It’s an all-day kinda place.”
“Right. I forgot.”
She holds open the door for me and I step inside. Taking off my sunglasses, I slip them into my bag and look up.
That’s when I see him.
Tuck.
He’s standing at the bar, his elbow resting on the back of a stool, his other hand pushed in the front pocket of his dark jeans. Tattoos peek over the collar of his white button-up. His head is turned away from us, the sinews of his neck popping against his tanned skin in the most obliterating, outrageously handsome way ever.