Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“Right.” I force myself to look away from the handsome beast-man still watching me like I’m everything. “C’mon then. Let’s go set the table.”
It takes twice as long to put out plates and cutlery with a little girl underfoot, and three times as long with a giant lunk of a man coming to 'help' but pretending he doesn’t know where the forks and glasses go, just so Nell can correct him and set everything right.
My smile is glued to me, watching them together.
No, it’s not just them together.
It’s us.
This is what coming home should feel like.
Family.
I can practically hear Grant’s stomach rumbling by the time I pull everything out of the oven and fill our plates. Nell insists on saying grace—she really respects her grandparents and their traditions—then wrinkles her nose at the spicy meatloaf.
“It smells... itchy,” she complains from her seat on one side of the cozy square table. “It makes my nose scratchy.”
A second later, she sneezes into her elbow dramatically.
“Good thing you don’t have to eat it,” I tease, dropping a thick slab of meatloaf flecked with chili flakes onto Grant’s plate. “That’s all for the big guy. Let’s see if I can make him breathe fire tonight.”
I wink at him.
“You can do that without the meatloaf just fine,” Grant mutters under his breath.
Nell blinks, her little eyes rounding.
“You can breathe fire, Uncle Grant?”
I snicker and nudge him under the table. “Be nice.”
Nell’s a little too smart for her own good. Plus, if he makes me blush any harder, she’ll figure out he’s not talking about spicy food.
But my blush comes back for a different reason as Grant takes a bite, then lets out a low, pleased groan. “Oh, yeah. God damn, that’s good.”
“No bad words at the dinner table, Uncle Grant! Grandma’s just chomping at the bit for me to start that swear jar,” Nell proclaims proudly.
I smile. “One time when I went to this Podunk town in Montana, there was this little girl at the inn who was all about the swear jars. Buuut I think we can let your uncle live just this once.” I tuck into my own safely unspicy meatloaf. “Now eat your dinner, hon.”
The meal is a pretty rowdy affair with Nell dominating the conversation.
Grant chuckles more than I’ve ever seen him laugh in all the years I’ve known him.
Being a dad suits him, even if Nell isn’t actually his daughter.
It’s like all the rough edges he had as a younger man get smoothed away around this spunky little girl. He turns soft in ways I never imagined.
And I can’t take my eyes off him, especially not when his gaze catches mine across the table.
Nell pulls him back to her with another outlandish observation about her classmates and her very pregnant teacher.
But she grabs my attention as she abruptly pins me with those wickedly innocent eyes, a broad smile on her lips. “So Miss Philia, are you gonna stay with us for good? You could be an almost-mom. Kinda like Uncle Grant is my almost-dad?”
I nearly spit out my drink, going up like a five-alarm fire. Maybe I got some of Grant’s spicy meatloaf by mistake, but actually...
“Um.”
I’m speechless.
“Almost-dad. That’s what I told her to call me.” Grant smiles across the table.
I fumble, looking between him and Nell.
It hasn’t taken long to figure out that she loves putting people on the spot, but this is too much.
Because she’s not just being a brat. There’s something serious in her nosy question, considering this is the second time she’s asked me.
This isn’t just a little girl playing pranks.
It’s a lonely little girl who misses having a mom, a complete family.
“Honey...” Clearing my throat, I gather my thoughts and say, “I’m happy to stay as long as Grant needs me.”
That wins me a smile from Nell. “Then it’s settled. You’re here for good. ’Cause he’s really dumb without you, Miss Philia.”
“Is he now?” I laugh, though I suddenly feel shy enough to shrink into the floor, all elbows and awkwardness. I’m right back to being that knock-kneed girl I used to be, flustered in front of her crush. “I don’t think I know how to make Grant less dumb, Nell. He’s been like that since before you were born.”
“I’m right here, ladies,” Grant growls, scowling—and just like that, the awkward tension at the table dissipates.
The rest of dinner passes with more quiet teasing and tales from the schoolyard.
When we’re done, Grant promises to wash the dishes while I take Nell up to bed and read to her. She bounds into the bedroom after brushing her teeth like an overexcited puppy. Before I can shoo her into bed, she grabs her favorite book and jabs it at me.
It’s so weird to feel like that book is part of coming home, right down to the familiar creases in the cover, worn deeper with time.