Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“One of the kids is mean to me,” she shoots back before she takes a bite of a raw carrot covered in ranch dressing. “I told him to stop, but then he pulled on my ponytail.”
She chews while Milo nods. “Kids can be cruel, Rook. You know that.”
Shaking my head, I laugh. “I know that? I distinctly remember you asking me to have a word with some kid who took issue with your haircut when you were… what… ten or eleven?”
“Was it a bad haircut?” Kirby asks, still chewing.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I playfully warn her with a wag of my finger.
Nodding, she points at her mouth.
“She can’t quit school, Milo,” I tell him. “Don’t encourage it.”
“It’s quiet quitting,” Kirby corrects me and accentuates her point by placing her index finger against her lips. “If I quiet quit, maybe that kid will miss me, and say sorry, and then I can go back and he’ll like me again.”
“He already likes you.” Milo jabs a finger gently into her forearm. “Boys always pick on the girls they like.”
“What?” The remainder of the carrot piece in her hand tumbles to her plate. “Is that for real?”
“It’s for real,” he tells her with a straight face. “I liked girls when I was in kindergarten, and sometimes I’d tug on their ponytails to get them to look at me.”
“No way!” She rubs one of her eyes through the glasses frames since they are lens free. “You think he likes me?”
“I think so,” he says. “You need to kill him with kindness, Kirbs.”
“Kill him!” she shrieks, sending the gazes of the other customers in the diner in our direction. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“It’s an expression,” I explain before my brother can. “It means if you’re extra nice to him, he may drop the tough guy act and be nice to you, too.”
The glasses come off, and she shakes her head. “I can do this, Daddy. You know I’m a nice girl.”
“The nicest,” Milo chimes in.
“I’m going to be so nice that he will be my new best friend,” she announces.
“Where will that put me on the list?” I ask, solely out of curiosity.
She drops her gaze to her hands and taps each of the fingers on her left hand with her right index finger before she switches and taps three fingers on her right hand. “Eighth place.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Uncle Milo let me get an ice cream cone on our way home from school,” she explains, looking lovingly at my brother. “So he’s in third place now.”
“So, Uncle Holden is in fourth place?” I ask, trying to understand her reasoning and what criteria she’s using to calculate this list that I doubt I’ll ever top.
“Fifth.” She sighs. “Maura is back in third.”
I don’t bother asking where Maura ranked before today. I’m just glad she’s feeling better. Once I heard about this impromptu dinner, I texted Maura asking if she wanted to join in, but she bowed out gracefully, saying that she’ll use her free time to hang out with her sister, who is visiting New York for a few days.
“Daddy.” Kirby shrugs. “Can I have a sleepover at Uncle Milo’s on Friday night?”
I glance at Milo to find a smile on his face and his thumb in the air, signaling that it works for him. Since it does for me, too, I nod. “I’ll need to check with your Mom first, but I’m good with it.”
“Will we have popcorn?” Kirby questions him. “With little chocolate candies in it?”
My left brow cocks in silent query because my brother knows how I feel about loading Kirby up with sugar before bed.
“Maybe some fruit instead,” he says with an obvious wink.
Kirby tries to wink back, but it’s an epic fail, so she resorts to a whisper shout. “I get it. We can pretend to Daddy that it’s fruit.”
I laugh it off.
I know she’s in good hands when she’s with Milo, and that’s all that matters because my Friday night plans are set, and I won’t have anything on my mind but the beautiful woman I’ve been thinking about all week.
“Can I have a little bit of dessert tonight?” Kirby pleads, pressing her palms together as if in prayer. “Jo made those pretty pink cupcakes I love, Daddy. I can split one with Uncle Milo.”
Milo shrugs, adjusting the bowtie on his T-shirt. “I’ll take one for the team.”
“Half of one,” Kirby says.
“We’ll split it in three,” I suggest, knowing that Kirby will somehow still end up with a bigger piece than I want her to have.
She lifts her half-filled glass of milk. “Let’s toast to dessert.”
Milo joins in to tap his soda can against her glass, and I round out the toast by raising my glass of water. “To dessert.”
This dessert is just fine, but a little more than forty-eight hours from now, I’ll be taking the lovely Carrie Gilbert to dinner, and then she’ll be the best dessert treat I’ve ever had.