Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
My eyes caught on a framed picture in the downstairs hallway, just barely visible from where I stood in the kitchen. It was black and white, and I didn’t need to be closer to see it perfectly in my mind. I’d stared at it long enough that the image was burned into my memory.
It was of Jenny holding Ava when she was just three months old.
Jenny had bags under her eyes and curlers in her hair, and she was still as beautiful as ever. Ava was sleeping, her little hand wrapped around Jenny’s finger.
I’d snapped the photo on my phone — one of the only ones I’d been smart enough to take.
And I’d printed and framed the grainy image about a year after she died, when I finally started pulling my head out of my ass. I filled other parts of the house with photos of Jenny and me when we were younger, too — when we were just friends who occasionally liked to hook up.
I wanted to make sure she was all around as Ava grew up, as if our daughter could somehow get to know her through the three-by-fives and eight-by-tens.
A dark shadow of movement coming down the stairs drew my attention from the wall, my heart lurching into my throat. But before I could so much as tense or grab a weapon, Chloe stepped into the soft light coming from the kitchen, a sleepy smile on her face.
“Congrats on the win,” she said, a yawn stretching her mouth as she wrapped her fluffy robe around her tighter. She had on the most bizarre pajama pants I’d ever seen in my life — bright pink with cats and books all over the fabric in a repeating pattern — and her robe was Barney purple, which matched the furry headband holding her hair off her face.
And even looking like a Crayola box had thrown up on her, she still somehow looked enticing.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the way that robe revealed she wasn’t wearing a bra, or how her thick thighs made those stupid pajama pants swish a little bit as she walked toward me. And without a stitch of makeup on, I could see the flush of her cheeks so easily, could note how her lips were still a soft pink even without lipstick.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” I croaked, clearing my throat as she made her way into the kitchen.
She waved me off. “Don’t be. I have a recurring existential crisis around this time every night like clockwork.”
She slid into a barstool while I blinked at her, waiting for more of an explanation that never came.
“Ava was very proud of you tonight,” she said, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. When she remembered she had the headband in place, she crossed her arms tightly over her chest again with a nervous smile. “I hope you don’t mind. I let her stay up tonight since we have a pretty easy day tomorrow. But I got her ready for bed in-between periods, and she knocked out as soon as the final buzzer blew.”
“It’s fine,” I assured her.
“She was so excited, even though she was clearly tired,” Chloe continued, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she recalled it. “She kept saying, Daddy scored a goal! Daddy scored a goal! I think I even saw her smile.”
“Bullshit.”
“Okay, so not smile,” she amended. “But less of a scowl, anyway.”
I chuffed a little laugh out of my nose at that, tilting my glass of milk one way and then the other before taking a big swig. “Yeah, well — not often that a goalie scores a goal. But with them leaving the net open in the final minutes.” I shrugged.
“Yes. Ava had to explain that to me, by the way,” she said. “Still not sure I completely understand it. Hockey makes no sense.”
“Hey now, no blasphemy in my house.”
She chuckled, folding her hands together on the island as her gaze slid to watch them. She cracked her knuckles and began wringing her fingers as silence washed over us.
“Thank you,” I said. “For everything. The house looks amazing, and the text updates were very appreciated.”
“You act like those things aren’t, like, the bare minimum of being a babysitter,” she said on a grin.
“The bar is very low, Miss Knott.”
I didn’t miss the way her skin turned that lovely shade of pink when I said her name like that.
Tonguing my cheek and doing my best not to let my mind lead me down the road it so desperately wanted to drive, I drained the rest of my milk, planting my hands on the cold granite countertop and thinking.
“I’m not very good at beating around the bush,” I said after a moment. “So… I’m just going to come out with it.” I lifted my eyes to hers. “I want to hire you. Permanently. And I want you to move in.”