Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
God, he looks so natural with children.
And so fitting.
And seeing him like this makes my ovaries fucking hurt.
Literally. Ache.
Since the whole debacle with Xander, I honestly hadn’t given much thought to kids in my own personal life, but now? After seeing Ry play and engage and care for his niece?
They’re all I want.
With him.
I guess Katherine was right about there being a difference between not wanting children versus not wanting children with a particular person.
“I love cooking,” Shelly happily announces. “And baking!”
Yeah, her so-called desserts were the first thing Ry warned me not to eat.
“Being in the kitchen is undeniably one of my favorite things. It brings me a sense of excitement or peace depending on which I need. What about you?” Shelly questions lifting her water glass. “Do you like to cook?”
“Oh…cooking and baking…and really all of the culinary arts actually fill me with a sense of dread and my hands with the fire extinguisher.”
The entire table warmly laughs.
“When we’re eating in, Ry does most of the cooking for us.”
Noah lifts a curious eyebrow at his brother. “You can cook?”
“Yeah.” My boyfriend stops playing with his niece to give his brother his attention. “Pretty fucking good at it, too.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“Language,” Shelly swiftly scolds.
“I’m not full of shit.”
“You are!”
“Am not!”
“I watched you burn Pop Tarts and popcorn your first week out of rehab,” mirth trickles itself through Noah’s voice, “and both of those have automatic timers!”
Ry momentarily glares before joining his brother in laughter.
Initially, seeing the two of them in the same room after all these years took me back to a different time. When they were younger, we would sit at dinners like this with his parents, and it was evident who was their favorite.
Who mattered.
Who existed.
Noah was undoubtedly the golden child who was loved unconditionally while the Ry was the one who – no matter how hard he tried to impress them – would never be good enough.
Or matter enough.
Or loved the way he deserved to be loved.
I didn’t hate Noah for being Noah.
Hell, I didn’t even hate Liz for being doted on as the beautiful, perfect, prim and proper Princess that they held her up to be.
I only hated his parents.
And I only hated them for not caring enough about the one person I would’ve given anything in my life just to see smiling.
Dinners themselves were always tasty because Marigold, their cook, was a culinary wizard. I would occasionally bring dessert – Monkey Bread I had made with my mom or grandma – and always make sure she was saved a slice as a thank you for the thankless work I knew she was doing.
Conversations then were centered around Ry’s older siblings, yet Noah would do his best to check in on his baby brother.
Try to give the fuck it was evident their parents didn’t.
From my understanding, that hasn’t changed.
He was the one who pushed for Ry to complete his rehab program.
Start fresh.
He’s the one who provided him with shelter, clothes, and food. He’s also the one who helped him find an apartment, lease a car, and insure he stays clean by routinely having his urine and blood checked for substances.
It’s expensive.
And I know it irritates the shit out of Ry to have his brother footing bill after bill after bill just to keep him on his feet yet not once has Noah seemed bothered by it. Not from what I’ve heard or what I’ve seen.
To me, it looks like all Noah and Shelly for that matter care about is that he’s healthy and around to be in their lives.
I feel the exact same fucking way.
I just wish he’d give me less grief about it from the financial aspect.
“Eff off,” Ry playfully commands, hand landing on my charcoal pants covered leg, “I can actually cook.”
“He’s really good at it,” I swear with a smile. “And my favorite thing is for him to go on a cooking binge after watching some Food Network competition. It basically turns my kitchen into a four-star dining experience, which then requires horrendous cleaning; however, it’s always, always worth it. Monday night he made chicken fried steak, creamy gravy, and Hassel-bacon potatoes with Colby jack cheese.” My whole body dramatically melts on a silent moan. “They were. To. Die. For. Legit. That could’ve been my last meal, and I would’ve had no regrets.”
Ry snickers at the same time his thumb gives my thigh a gentle stroke. “I’ll make sure to get the ingredients for it this weekend so we can have it again next week.”
“I wanna try them,” Shelly energetically calls from across the table. “Potatoes are totally my Kryptonite. They are basically my little secret thrill.”
“She once put back three plates of loaded tater-tots during a hockey game when we first started dating,” Noah casually informs, wiping his hand off in the process. “I almost popped the question right then and there.”