Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“I’m coming,” I say, and she stops the minute she hears my voice. I look over the crib at her, and she’s kicking away, her hands moving up and down.
“Da, da, da, da,” she says over and over again.
“Yeah,” I say, picking her up, then bending my head to kiss her. “I’m here.” I look at her, her bright blue eyes so full of happiness. “I’ll always be here.”
I walk back into the kitchen, and something about me is different, and I can’t explain it. My shoulders feel lighter and my heart doesn’t clench tight when I walk out of Ari’s room. “It’s almost ready,” Candace says, and I see that she tied up her hair on top of her head as she takes the pot of pasta and drains it. “I’m also going to want to do this again if it doesn’t taste good.” She smiles, and just like that, the heaviness of what we talked about is gone. She acts like I didn’t just dish out my whole world to her, and she didn’t talk me off the ledge that I’ve been clinging to every single day. “You good?” she asks as the boiling water and steam fills the sink.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m actually really good.” I smile at Ari, who just smiles at us.
Chapter 17
Candace
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Layla says as soon as I answer the phone, and she hangs up before I can tell her that I’m not home alone. I put the phone down and look over at Miller, who sits there typing something on his phone.
“Okay, so I think we have the rest of the summer up to speed,” I say and he looks up at me, picking up his baseball cap and scratching his forehead. “What are your plans for the fall?”
“I have no fucking clue,” he says, looking up and moving his neck side to side. “Hopefully, we start the season off good.”
“Well, you are still getting on the ice, and from the looks at everyone else, training is going well,” I say of all my clients who send me pictures weekly.
“Fucking Ralph.” He mentions Ralph, and I try not to look at him in case he sees something that isn’t there. Or maybe it is, who knows at this point. I haven’t seen him in nine days, nine days, and every single day, he invaded my thoughts. The last conversation I had with him broke my heart, and it took me two days to get through the daze he left me in. If I close my eyes, I can still feel his hand on my face. I can still feel his breath on my face, and I can still feel the way my heart beat in my chest. I try to draw the line in the sand, and by not seeing him is what is working. I mean, I guess. I stalk his Instagram, and we text daily with ideas. Just today, he took a picture of himself wearing the Babybjorn with diapers, wipes, and bottles on the counter in front of him.
Is it hockey season yet?
His activity level is through the roof, and he’s getting over two thousand followers a day now that he is more active. “What happened with Ralph?” I ask, suddenly wondering if he’s sick or not. Maybe it’s Ariella.
“He’s been on the ice seven days a week for four hours,” he tells me, and I wonder who is watching Ari? I wonder if he thinks about me, and I wonder if Ari misses me? I shake my head because of course she doesn’t. The texts that we send are always professional, and I haven’t asked him any personal questions. It is what I do with everyone else. “Then he works out three hours at night when his kid is sleeping.”
“Well, he’ll be ready to go next month then,” I say, looking down at the computer. Then I hear the front door open and I look up at Miller to see his face when he sees who is coming in.
“I’m here,” Layla says, walking in, and I see Miller’s face light up. It’s not a secret that he’s in love with her.
“Be still my heart,” he says, putting his hands to his chest. He came here straight from training, so he’s dressed in his gym attire.
“Oh, God, what is he doing here?” Layla says, and I look over at her. Even if she didn’t want to dress up, she looks amazing. She’s wearing blue jeans ripped at the knees, but it molds her with a white T-shirt that is tied at the side. Her sandy blond hair in beach waves. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here?”
“Well, you hung up on me,” I say, getting up and going over to the fridge to get a bottle of water as I watch the two of them fight.