Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“You’ve thought of everything,” he says.
“I tried to.” Grabbing a reusable grocery bag, I load all the items inside. “I used one of those disposable pans for the spaghetti. That way, they don’t have to worry about getting a dish back to me. That’s the last thing they need to worry about right now.”
“You’re good at this meal train stuff,” he praises.
“Not really.” I laugh. “I’m just trying to make their lives easier during this transitional phase.” I look in the bag and go over my mental checklist. “That’s it. I just need to run out to my car to grab something. I’ll be right back.” I don’t give him time to ask questions before I rush out of the house.
I brought the top of a paper box from work to transport the spaghetti. Well, at the time, I didn't know it would be spaghetti, but I knew that the lid would come in handy, so I snagged it instead of taking it to the dumpster.
“What’s that for?” Sterling asks when I come back into the kitchen.
“Just watch and see.” I grab the bath towel that I had already laid out from the island and place it in the bottom of the box. I make the middle flat and let it bunch up on both sides for a better fit for the pan.
Then, I grab the pot holders and carefully lift the pan from the stove, and place it in the center of the box.
“Huh.” Sterling nods, looking impressed. “What gave you that idea?” he asks.
“My mom used to do this. Well, I’m sure she still does if she’s taking something that doesn’t have an easy transport carrier.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.” I pretend to bow, and his laughter fills the kitchen. It’s deep and rich, and familiar.
He picks up the grocery bag and the box lid. “I’m driving. You have what you need?” he asks.
“Phone.” I turn around and survey the kitchen and find it sitting next to the stove.
“Make sure no books are playing. You can listen to that when we get home.”
I ignore the way he says home as if we live together. “Stop.” I place my hands over my face. “I can’t believe that happened.”
“It’s nothing. The worst part is that I know my mom reads that shit.” He shudders.
“Hey.” I smack at his arm lightly. “It’s not shit. It's literary genius with lots of heart and steam.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m not calling your book shit, but damn, Tink. I do not need to be thinking about my parents doing any of… that.”
“Come on, Tank. You have eight brothers. How do you think you all got here?” I tease.
“Come on, trouble.” He turns and walks out of the house. By the time I catch up with him, he has everything loaded, and he’s holding the passenger door open for me.
On impulse, I rise on my tiptoes and kiss beneath his jaw. “Thanks, Sterling.”
His arms wrap around me, and he pulls me into a hug. “Alyssa—” he starts, but I ease away.
“We better get going. It’s still warm, and it’s lunchtime.” Breathless, I climb into the truck on my own and buckle in. Once he’s satisfied that I’m secure, he closes the door. I gulp in the air and watch as he saunters around the front of the truck, making his way to his side. Something in his voice said he wanted to talk, and I know that we need to. There’s this charge between us that we’ve been ignoring, and then there’s the kiss that I’ll never forget. We just can’t talk about that now. We have food to deliver, and I have a baby to snuggle.
“Alyssa, this is too much,” Palmer says, peering into the bag that Sterling just placed on the counter.
“It’s nothing,” I tell her. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired, a little sore, but my heart is so full.” Tears well in her eyes. “Sorry, hormones,” she says, wiping at her eyes.
“Look, baby girl. Someone came to meet you.” Brooks walks into the kitchen bare-chested with a tiny bundle of pink resting against his chest. Sterling meets him halfway and bends to kiss Remi on the top of her head. The two chat, and it’s a whole lot of hotness standing before us.
“Damn,” I mutter.
“Right?” Palmer laughs.
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly.
Palmer waves her hand in the air. “I get it. You should see it through my eyes. The man I love is holding the baby girl we created out of that love. It’s—” She waves her hands in front of her face as if that will stop the emotions. “—intense,” she finally says.
“I’m so happy for both of you.” I pull her into a hug, and we break apart, smiling. “Is there anything I can do for you while I’m here?” I look around the kitchen, but it’s spotless.