Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Yeah, I do. Sometimes the mom is a bitch, but do a little digging and there’s usually a reason for it.
I paste a smile on my face and hold my hand out for Mia's bag. “Well, it's been nice to meet you, but I want to get her inside. Now that she's awake, I can carry everything in, no problem. But thank you.”
He licks his lips, and for a second I think he’s going to object, but then he holds the backpack out a tiny bit too far so I have to reach for it. “You never told me if there’s a Mr. Shelby.”
I want to lie. To tell him that my husband is at work but he’ll be home later, but this guy is my neighbor. It would come out soon enough. “No, um…” I look down at Mia. “He’s not in the picture anymore.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” He doesn’t sound it. “I know this is probably too much, but I’ve never been one for beating around the bush. Do you want to grab a coffee sometime? Maybe a bite to eat? Nothing big, but—”
“Look, Matt. You seem like a nice guy and I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. Things with Mia’s father were complicated and I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.”
Mia's tugging my leg impatiently. She wants inside.
He looks undaunted. “Of course. I totally get it. I’m still recovering from my own situation, but gotta get back on the horse, right? If you need anything, whatever, I'm good at lifting things, getting things down from high places, opening jars, whatever else you might need. Not gonna make it weird, I promise.”
“Thanks, I'll keep that in mind.”
He seems to finally get the hint. With a final nod, and a quick glance and a smile at Mia, who glowers back, he turns and walks off. He waves with one hand, looking over his shoulder as he leaves my property. “Just remember. Anything. I'll see you around, I'm sure.”
As soon as I unlock the door. Mia darts inside and I follow with her things.
I don't know. He seems nice enough. It's probably just me.
I still lock the door, though.
8
SHELBY
“This one?” Mia asks, pointing to a plucky little green plant that from what I can see looks exactly like all the other ones sticking up from the dirt in our front flower beds.
Until I became a parent to a child who never stops asking questions, I never realized how much my parents probably lied about or were just guessing when I was little. Truthfully, I have no idea if what she’s pointing at is a weed or a flower, but I’m pretty sure I don’t recognize those leaves so weed it is.
“Yep! Stick the trowel in right next to the stem like this.” I wrap my hand around hers and help her push through the soil, and together, we wiggle it back and forth until the stem is loose enough to yank out. “Now throw it in the bucket.”
She turns it into a game, and by the time the maybe-weed actually makes it inside, she’s completely lost interest in gardening and is busy practicing somersaults on the grass. Honestly, I feel pretty done with it as well, but if I wait any longer, spring will be over and it’ll start getting hot which will make everything way harder. I learned that last year. It was my first time living alone with Mia after Mom moved in with her boyfriend, and having a whole house and yard to deal with. There was a lot to learn as I went.
Finally, I decide it’s break time. We’re sitting on the porch drinking lemonade with dirt stains on both our knees when the rumble of a single motorcycle engine cuts through the air. Mia perks up, big brown eyes focused intently on the end of the street.
I stand when the bike comes into view, nervous snakes writhing in the pit of my stomach. “Why don’t you go inside, honey?”
“Why?”
The urge to snap: Because I said so, is strong, but I push it down. “We can’t go for ice cream if we don’t get cleaned up.”
“With rainbows? Two scoops?”
“One scoop, but you can get all the rainbow sprinkles you want. Your pink pants are on your bed. Put those on and wash your hands, I’ll come check in a minute.”
She wrinkles her nose a little but apparently my bribe is successful because she pulls open the screen door and stomps inside. Her footsteps make it sound like she’s ten times bigger than she is, which is a type of magic I’ll never figure out.
The bike, a slick, classic style covered in chrome that gleams in the sun, pulls into the driveway and stops next to my ancient Honda Civic. It’s blue with silver detailing, and I’m pretty sure if I get closer, the figure painted on the main body would be detailed enough for a medical textbook entry labeled “Pinup girl”. But it’s not the naked lady on his bike that I’m focused on, it’s the rider.