Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
It was my goal to change that.
Which made it serendipitous that I’d just pulled a lasagna out of the oven.
We were going to go ahead and pretend that I didn’t think way too much about Salvatore as I prepared the traditional Italian fare.
“I know I should have called,” Wren said, kicking out of her flat strappy sandals.
“Are you kidding? You know you never have to call,” I told her, moving inside, letting her follow me into the kitchen. “I just made lasagne,” I told her. “So now you have to stay, or I am going to end up eating it all myself.”
When all else failed, guilt worked.
Did it feel good to use it? No. But if it got her to eat, that was what mattered.
It wasn’t that she was actively starving herself. But she’d just been… not herself. It was like she forgot to eat. Or had just lost her appetite in general.
I wanted to have twice-weekly dinner dates with her, but my schedule just wouldn’t allow it. And I was trying not to make a big deal out of my “summer job.” In fact, I went ahead and let Wren believe that I only had it so I could splurge on fun classroom supplies for the school year and because “I don’t like having that much downtime.”
Lies.
I mean, yes, I did sometimes work odd jobs in the summer to buy something big for my classroom. But I’d been teaching for years. Most of the bigger-ticket things were already bought.
And I loved downtime.
There was never enough time, in my humble opinion, to read books. Summer was usually my catch-up time, checking out endless books from the library that I’d had my eye on all year as they released, but just never had time to get to.
“Hey, what’s this?” Wren asked as I started to grab plates, even though I knew the lasagne really needed some time to set before we cut into it.
“What’s wh—“ I started as I turned, then felt my stomach drop when I saw her holding my sling in her hands.
I didn’t need it anymore.
I still had my stitches in, and I guess I needed to make an appointment with a doctor to get them removed since I hadn’t heard from Salvatore, but I wasn’t in agony anymore.
As soon as I could take that damn thing off, I did. It was nice to be able to use my arms at work again.
“Oh, that. I had a little, ah, strain,” I said, since it wasn’t a full lie. It had been a strain on my shoulder to be shot.
“A strain? Bad enough that you were wearing a sling. And you didn’t tell me?” Wren asked, her emotive eyes letting me know immediately that she was hurt by the very idea.
“It was no big deal, really. It was just bothering me, so I wore the sling so I didn’t make it worse,” I told her.
“Whit, I know you’ve always been the mom figure in this relationship, but you can lean on me too, okay? Lord knows I’ve leaned on you enough,” she said, her gaze sliding away.
“Hey, that’s what family is for,” I told her, not wanting to bring up the topic, knowing it was never good. It was better, when we could, just to breeze past it and focus on more positive things. “So, how are classes?” I asked, scooping some too-liquid lasagne onto a plate for her. My instinct was to give her a giant portion, but I went for one the same size as mine.
That was the right thing to ask.
Because Wren lit up.
“Oh, it is so great,” she said, eyes going bright, taking her plate over to the couch to sit down, using her legs as a table. I grabbed us some drinks and headed over to join her.
Our parents had always been strict “eat at the table” types.
When I took Wren in, I’d never had space for a proper dining room. Besides, it always felt more casual and intimate to eat on the couch. And when we were trying to navigate our new living dynamic after our parents were gone, it was helpful to have that lack of formality. It helped us open up to each other.
“Yeah?” I asked, slicing open my lasagne with my fork so it could cool.
“I never thought I would enjoy it. You know how much I hated school when I went.”
It was more that she had a lot of issues with her peers giving her a shit all the time, making it hard for her to focus and apply herself in class.
I never understood that whole situation. I hadn’t exactly been popular in school, but no one ever teased me. And I’d been kind of pimply and oily and awkward. They would have had ample reason to pick on me.