Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
She nods.
I swallow hard, looking for any sign, but she’s stoic. Not flinching or even hinting at anything. Noah reaches for my hand. “You’re killing me, Elle. Are we going to have our babies at the same time?” My voice cracks at the end. I cover my mouth instantly, already knowing what she’s going to say.
“How does Auntie P sound to you?”
I’m not sure who I scare more with my scream, the dogs or Noah. Elle and I jump up at the same time, ignoring the men in the room. We hug each other tightly, crying into each other’s shoulders.
“We’re going to be moms,” Elle says, and I nod. “I’m so fucking screwed.”
16
NOAH
Alan calls, says he’s in town and wants to stop by. Of course, I tell him yes because I’m a guy and I don’t think about things, like how there are a hundred and one pregnancy magazines all over the living room or how the garbage is full, as is the sink because Peyton and I haven’t moved from the movie room in a couple of days. She wanted to watch movies like Three Men and a Baby, and some others. I was happy to oblige her in every way possible.
Now, we’re frantic. Peyton yells at me for moving slowly but honestly, I’m not sure what she wants me to clean. She thinks our house is dirty. It’s not. Especially after I load the dishwasher and turn it on. I also gathered her magazines and put them in our bedroom. Sure, we haven’t made the bed yet, but Alan is definitely not going in there.
“Babe,” I say when she tries to brush past me. “Take a deep breath.”
“It’s perception, Noah. Alan’s only ever been to our apartment. He’s going to come in here and think we live like pigs.”
“The apartment in Portland is clean because we’re never home and have a maid. Here is where we live. This house looks lived in.”
Peyton looks off to the side. “Should I hire a maid? I should. Shouldn’t I? A professional would have this place clean in minutes compared to the hours it’s going to take me. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.”
I have to wait for her to stop talking to and answering herself. “If we want to hire someone, we will. Tomorrow. Right now, Alan is coming over. Hopefully with good news.”
“Right. I’m going to place an order for groceries because the refrigerator is empty. You know, because we don’t go to the store.”
“We’re going to have to get better about some of this stuff, aren’t we?” I run my hand through my hair and sigh.
Peyton frowns and places her hand over her stomach. “Yeah. We’re going to have to be super adults.”
“Shit,” I mutter, and she starts laughing. “Not to mention we’re going to have to watch our language.”
“You”—Peyton jabs her finger into my chest and leaves it here—“have to watch your language. I’m perfect.”
I grab her wrist and pull her roughly to me. “You like to say some pretty colorful things when we’re—”
“Noah Westbury if you finish that sentence, so help me—”
“You’ll what, babe? Spank me?”
Her eyes widen and she lifts her hand only to pause mid-swing when the doorbell chimes. As if on cue Stevie Nicks barks, and then she barks again having realized that she does in fact make that noise. It’s been cute watching her develop her bark. The first time she did it, she looked around at us, unsure if that was her or us.
“We’re going to have to train her not to bark.”
“Yes and no. I want her to alert us when she’s uncomfortable. Especially if someone’s near the house or you and the baby. But I agree, she doesn’t need to bark at every little thing.”
“Go get the door before she thinks this is a game.” Peyton kisses me and then goes to hold Stevie Nicks from running out the front door.
“Alan!” My agent stands there, looking around at the landscape, dressed in a three-piece suit and wearing aviators. I have a few choice things to say but bite my tongue. This guy is supposed to have my best interests at heart, but there are times when I wonder if he does or if he’s only looking out for his commission.
We shake hands and I step aside to let him in. Long gone are the days of briefcases and satchels. Now everything is done on the phone or tablet, which he carries in his hand.
“Hey, Peyton,” Alan says when she steps into the foyer, carrying our pup.
“Hi, Alan.”
“Who’s this?” he asks.
“Stevie Nicks,” Peyton says.
“Hi, Stevie.”
“Gotta add the Nicks part,” I tell him. “We’re doing the full name as one name.”
Alan looks at me oddly, and I shrug. “We’re keeping up with the trends, Alan.”
He goes back to petting the dog for a bit.