Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I remember that too. Not only did I keep a supply of small bags of Carden jelly beans in the pocket of my suit jacket for Stevie, but I carted around a box of Sinclair’s favorite sweet treats with me at all times.
I’d surprise her with those whenever I had the chance. It was never just about me handing the box off to her, though. Sinclair had a weakness for small pastel-colored heart-shaped candies with letters etched on them. They have always been one of Carden’s best sellers.
Sinclair would arrange them into words before she popped the candies into her mouth one by one.
The words usually mirrored her mood for the day – happy, pissed, fucking frustrated. We got a load of laughs out of the tradition.
I pat one of the pockets of my jacket. “The next time I see you, I’ll have something in here just for you, Stevie.”
She claps her hands. “Thank you. Let’s go eat pizza.”
I steal a glance at Sinclair, but her gaze is cast to the ground. I have no idea if she’s all right with me joining them for dinner, but it’s a done deal, so I, for one, will make the best of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sinclair
My niece is to blame for this, but I can’t be mad at her.
Stevie Morgan is sunshine personified. She’s young enough to believe there is good in everyone and far too innocent to understand that sometimes friendships fracture.
As soon as I heard Jameson enter the penthouse, I feared Stevie would invite him to have dinner with us. It’s not like her to leave anyone out of anything.
I am surprised that Jameson agreed to come with us.
“I like cheese pizza,” Stevie declares as she spreads a paper napkin on her lap.
Since she’s wearing a pink dress I bought her months ago, I understand why she’s taking extra precautions to keep any dripping sauce off the fabric.
She’ll never admit it, but my niece loves fashion almost as much as she loves animals and art.
“Me too,” Jameson half-lies.
Jameson is all about the fully loaded pizza. In high school, we sometimes shared a pie for dinner. Jameson always handled placing the order, and it never failed to be the same, regardless of which Manhattan pizza restaurant we were at.
He’d ask for one pie with everything on it.
Usually, that worked out just fine until we landed at a hole-in-the-wall place that considered hotdogs a pizza topping.
I decided not to indulge in that even though I had paid for half of it. Jameson finished the entire thing on the spot, including every last bite of hotdog.
“Really?” Stevie eyes him suspiciously. “When I was little, you came over to watch a movie with Auntie Sinclair and me one night, and you brought a small cheese pizza for me and a big one for the two of you that had shrimp and pineapple on it.”
She follows that recollection up with a scrunch of her nose.
“Shrimp and pineapple?” Berk repeats. “That’s a hard pass for me.”
“Me too,” I say, luring Jameson’s gaze to my face.
“Sinclair’s favorite is pepperoni and mushroom with a few green peppers.” He grins. “Unless your tastes have changed recently.”
“That’s her favorite,” Berk backs up Jameson’s statement with a nod. “She ordered that just last week when I had lunch delivered to my office for the two of us.”
“You did?” Stevie shoots her dad a look. “Where was I?”
“School,” I cut into the conversation. “Your dad took the leftovers home for you and your mom.”
“Oh, right.” She smiles. “That was a delicious after school snack.”
I jolt when something brushes against my leg.
It takes me all of one second to realize it’s Jameson’s thigh.
The only empty table in the restaurant when we arrived was small and circular. Berk assured the owner that we could all fit around it. My attempt to sit Stevie between Jameson and me failed, so I had no choice but to plop down on the chair next to him.
His eyes meet mine when I shift my leg away from him.
“I’m going to have lemonade,” Stevie announces, breaking the moment.
I turn to look at her. “Me too.”
“Me three,” Jameson chimes in. “Thanks again for inviting me, Stevie.”
“You’re welcome.” She glances at his face before she settles on mine. “I think Auntie Sinclair missed you when you were gone, so this is a coming home celebration.”
“It’s good to be home,” Jameson whispers. “It’s getting better by the day.”
“Stevie grew up,” Jameson says as soon as he shuts the door to the penthouse behind us.
I kick off my boots. “She has.”
I start to walk away from the foyer, determined to get to my bedroom because I need to think.
Spending the past ninety minutes sitting next to Jameson while he chatted with my brother and my niece felt like too much. It was familiar in a calming way that I wasn’t expecting.