Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“None taken.” She offers a dry smile. “It was terrifying to me too. Getting pregnant my senior year of college was definitely not part of the plan. If you’re not ready to have a kid, don’t let anyone pressure you into it.”
“Dean’s not pressuring me,” I assure her. “But like I said, all those steps are connected for me. I’d rather get married when I know I’m ready for the rest of it. Just do it all at once, know what I mean? I think I’m explaining this badly.”
Summer shrugs. “No, that makes sense. See, I don’t care if I’m engaged for like five years. I’d just be happy having something sparkly to wear while I wait for the go-ahead to plan the most epic wedding.” She holds out her hand, which is already covered in sparkly things. Summer is basically a fashion icon. Expensive clothes and jewelry are her religion.
“You look like you’re doing okay for now,” I say with a smile.
“That’s different. I want one from Fitzy. And I can’t wait to design my own wedding gown.” She gives Sabrina a stern look. “And you, you’d better be wearing your dress at the reception. I’m dying to see it.”
Sabrina flushes slightly. “It’s really not anything fancy,” she tells Dean’s fashionista little sister.
“Doesn’t matter. I know you’re going to look beautiful in it regardless,” Summer proclaims. Her green eyes dance happily. “Oh, I love weddings so much! Are you excited? This is so exciting!”
“SO EXCITING!” Jamie randomly shouts out. Then she peers up at her mom. “What’s exciting?”
Sabrina laughs. “Life,” she tells her daughter. “And yes, I am excited. Although that’s another thing that wasn’t part of the plan—getting married. But Tuck and I already have a kid together. And he’s the one I want to be with for the rest of my life, so…” She trails off with a shrug.
The answering chorus of awws makes her blush harder.
“Mummy, you’re all red.” Jamie climbs into her mother’s lap and pokes Sabrina’s cheek with one sticky finger.
Sabrina narrows her eyes. “And you are covered in chocolate.”
I suddenly realize there are chocolate smears all over Jamie’s rosebud mouth.
“Where the heck did she get chocolate from?” Sabrina asks.
Everyone looks around the table. Most of the pastries have been devoured, and the ones left are mostly sugar cookies. We’d annihilated anything with chocolate fairly fast.
“Auntie Carin’s cookie fell on the floor and I picked it up and ate it!” Jamie announces proudly, and I almost choke on my laughter.
Sabrina sighs. “All right. Let’s get you cleaned up, little one.”
She grabs a napkin and wipes Jamie’s chocolate-smeared mouth. No sooner does she put the crumpled napkin down than Jamie shoves a cream-filled pastry in her mouth, and now she’s got icing sugar all over her face.
Sabrina reaches for another napkin.
Oh man. Kids are exhausting. Witnessing Sabrina’s infinite supply of patience is something else. And it just cements my decision to postpone all those pesky steps until later in my life.
Much, much later.
16
Dean
At six o’clock, we’re all waiting for the newlyweds to enter the ballroom of the boutique hotel where the reception is being held. The private ceremony ended a while ago, but Tucker’s mom had popped in afterward with the update that they were taking some pictures up on the hotel roof and would come down shortly
The ballroom currently holds about two hundred guests, many of whom are current or former hockey players all stuffed like sausages in ill-fitted suits. Not me, obviously. I rock a suit like nobody’s business. Allie’s wearing a sky-blue dress that matches her eyes and silver stilettos that give her some height and make her legs look endless. Her blonde hair is pulled back in an elegant twist, revealing the diamond studs in her ears, last year’s anniversary gift courtesy of yours truly.
“Is this from the new Tom Ford collection?” my sister asks, running her grubby hands over the front of my very expensive suit jacket. Well, fine, her manicure probably cost more than this suit, but you can’t go around pawing at a man’s tailored wool, cotton, and silk blend.
“Yes,” I answer smugly. “Jealous?”
“Yes, Dicky, I’m so jealous,” Summer replies, dramatically rolling her eyes. Then she sighs. “Actually, yeah, I kind of am. You look better than me tonight.”
“Thank you for acknowledging that,” I say solemnly.
Fitz shakes his head. “You two are insane.”
“Ignore him,” Summer tells me. “He doesn’t understand clothes the way we do.”
She’s right. Fitz would be happy wearing ripped jeans and old tees for the rest of his life. He has no use for designer clothes. But it’s one of the many things Summer and I have in common, along with our lust for life. It’ll be nice having her back in New York this summer. After she graduates from Briar next month, she and Fitz are moving to Manhattan.