Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“That’s adorable.” It is, but I can already see an issue with the skirt. It’s short, in micro-mini, club-going, poster-girl-dress kind of way.
“Absolutely not,” Cameron scoffs, sounding like he expects his word to be the final say-so on the issue.
“Daaad,” Grace groans, rolling her eyes like she thinks he’s being utterly ridiculous.
“That’s not a skirt. It’s a wide belt at best. I said—” His voice is getting more clipped and harsher with every word, and I can see Grace’s excitement fading into shame.
As subtly as I can, I elbow Cameron in the ribs, much the way Grace did this morning. I do not get the same sleepy-eyed, sweet response to the maneuver. I get an oof and a ‘what the fuck’ scowl, which might be deserved, but I’m afraid he’s about to say something he can’t take back.
“Slip it on over your leggings so you can see how it fits,” I tell Grace, and when she starts to step into it, I cut my eyes to Cameron sharply. The glare I shoot him is such a shock that he doesn’t argue, but rather, stands there with his mouth hanging open as he stares back at me. But that only lasts a split second before he remembers the hierarchy of who he is and who I am. Still, I hold up one finger, telling Cameron to wait a second, and he frowns deeply at my overstep.
Because that’s exactly what it is. But I’m hoping for a tiny sliver of leeway for a good cause.
Once Grace has wiggled her way into the skirt and buttoned it, she smooths the fabric over her thighs. Well, the tippy tops of them, because that’s as long as the skirt is. “What do you think?”
“What do you think?” I repeat, directing her toward a mirror on the end of a long rack.
Cameron is about to explode, his opinion written all over his face.
Grace twists and turns, looking at her reflection. “Uhm, it is a little short,” she finally says, and I swear everyone in the store hears Cameron’s sigh of relief.
“It’s definitely way too short,” he agrees.
But that’s not the end of it. This is where I shine. “That means you have a choice to make. If you feel like it’s not meant to be yours, you leave it here and it’ll eventually find its way to where it belongs. If you love it, then you think out of the box about how you can make it work.”
“Like what?” Grace asks, seeming confused but still staring at herself in the mirror with a look I know all too well. She’s falling in love with the piece of denim that’s barely wider than a cummerbund.
“Riley.” Cameron’s voice goes stern as I test his patience.
My survival instincts are top-notch, cultivated and grown out of necessity over a lifetime. So if I really thought Cameron was gonna do something, I’d shut up. Conveniently, I don’t, so I ignore him completely and give Grace my full attention.
“It’s short, so either wear something under it, like leggings,” I say, pointing at the outfit she has on now, “or add fabric to the skirt. Here…” I pick up a hanger with a tablecloth folded over it. “You could sew something to the bottom of the denim and make a one of a kind, uniquely yours piece.” I hold the fabric up at the hem of the skirt, letting it drape over her legs so she can visualize what I mean.
Grace reaches out, her fingers rubbing over the tablecloth as she murmurs, “I can’t sew.”
“I can.”
Her attention bounces up to me. “You’d do that for me?”
I laugh. “Even better, I’ll teach you how.”
Her eyes widen as she searches my face for any sign that I’m kidding, but she won’t find one. I mean it, I’ll happily show her how to sew and guide her through this first project. “Really?” When I nod, she claps her hands excitedly. “Thanks, Riley!” But then she gives the tablecloth a dubious look. “Does it have to be that fabric, though? Or could I pick something else?”
“Anything you want. Tablecloths and sheets are the best yardage for the price, though, and would probably give us enough fabric to do either a couple of tiers or a few layers.” I side-eye Cameron, making sure he hears me. “We can make it as long as you want it to be.”
He’s gritting his teeth, his jaw set, but the blue eyes he turns on me don’t seem cold this time. There’s fire burning in their depths, almost… nope, not going there. Too terrifying.
I smile blandly, knowing full well that Cameron has several things he wants to say to me, and the only thing holding his tongue is his daughter’s presence. And because I’ve never been accused of making good decisions, I goad him further. “Hey, can you show me those plaid pants you were talking about? I want to see if they’d be good for resale.”