Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
The Palm Springs sun beats down and I slip down under the water, feeling the coolness take over, refreshing me. Between all the kids and the constant need Mathias and I have for each other, sleep is in rare supply.
I’m still painting. I ship my pieces all over the world, and galleries across the country wait for my next releases. Photography has become my other passion. Especially capturing all the moments of our lives. The walls at home are covered with photos, and I told Mathias he may have to build an addition just so we can have more wall space.
His wood carving work has done almost as well as my paintings. We are sort of this odd mix of survivalist, bohemian artists living in an Architectural Digest worthy home.
We set up a charity fund to help pay for college for foster children as well. We enjoy the work, and have seen twenty-seven kids graduate from college that probably wouldn’t have had the opportunity otherwise.
Mathias and his dad emerge from the pool house with the kids running and skipping in front of them, as Mathias scolds them about no running around the pool.
I chuckle to myself. Seeing my monster of a man wearing tropical swim trunks, his body covered in his bear-like hair, turns me on as much as it warms my heart.
As the kids scream and jump up and down, waiting to get into the water, Mathias turns to them, pointing a finger as if he’s going to discipline them, then spins around, runs and does a huge cannonball into the deep end, splashing water everywhere and soaking everything within twenty feet.
When he pops up from under the water, he swims to the shallow end, holds his arms out as both the kids follow behind with their own tiny cannonballs, and his dad takes the stairs down into the water. I float over to jump on my husband’s back as the kids scream and laugh.
“You’re the best dad.” I whisper into his ear as he bounces all three of us on his massive body, up and down in the water.
“You’re the best mother. Wife. Friend. Lover. And cookie baking assistant.” He turns and gives me a kiss as Deck and Maribelly make disgusted sounds and try to pull our faces apart.
He’s still baking cookies. In fact, he bakes about ten dozen a week and takes them into town to workers at animal shelters, nursing homes, hospitals...wherever strikes us that someone could use a smile and his cookies are sure to give you a smile.
I think back to that day ten years ago, sitting on that cold boulder by the fire with no idea where my life was headed.
Little did I know, an hour later in some bar in Walkerville, Michigan, the love of my life, my perfect match, my everything, would be there outside the bathroom door.
Then, of course, a few hours later, I almost shot him.
It was the beginning of the perfect love story.