Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“I missed you,” Harper tells her.
Chloe’s gaze is still on me when she replies. “I missed you too.” Then she peels herself away from Harper and steps back. “I can’t believe you’re seven now. Here, stand back and let me look at you. I bet I can see a big difference.”
Harper does it, holding her arms out and straightening up as tall as she can with her chin raised.
Chloe’s eyes widen like she can barely believe what she’s seeing. “Oh, definitely. Wow. What’d you do, grow a whole foot while you were gone?”
Harper laughs and rushes forward to give Chloe another hug. I use the opportunity to study her. She’s barefoot in jeans and a blue button-down blouse that cinches tight around her waist. Her hair is down and a little wavy. Her finger is still wrapped in a small Band-Aid, but nothing like the hulking thing she was sporting before we left for Texas.
She sees me looking at her hand and holds it up. “Had the stitches taken out today. They said it’s healing great.”
“You were able to cook?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Some. My family actually sent me back from the city with a lot of food to give you. It’s full Sunday dinner, so I hope you’re hungry. I think it was their way of buttering you up for a favor…”
My brow arches. “Favor?”
What could Chloe’s family possibly need from me?
Her gaze falls on a duffle bag resting against the foyer wall.
“I think my dad cleared out an entire sporting goods store. Bought up anything that had your name on it…”
I walk over and unzip it. Sure enough, I recognize my Pinstripes jersey and t-shirts, baseballs, gloves—you name it, it’s crammed in the bag.
“I warned them that you probably wouldn’t do it. I don’t know how this all works. Maybe you don’t want to flood the market with too many signed items, though they swore to me they weren’t going to resell things and they just want it for themselves.”
I turn back to see she has her hands tucked in the back pockets of her jeans. She’s slightly embarrassed. I can tell because of the rosy pink color on the apples of her cheeks.
“Of course I’ll sign them. And you know what? Back in the city, I have boxes of stuff in storage. I need to go through it, I’m sure there are some jerseys and shirts in there I could sign and give them too.”
Her face tips forward as her jaw drops. “You’re kidding.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“You don’t understand,” she continues hurriedly. “That’ll blow their minds. Oh, I can just see their faces now. It’s going to be so good.”
Harper butts in here. “I want to see their faces too.”
Chloe beams down at her. “Yes, of course. I’ll take pictures.”
Harper frowns. “No. I want to see them in person. I want to help give the gifts. I’m good at wrapping stuff—ask my dad.”
Chloe blinks, and her smile fades slightly. I know she’s trying to come up with some way to placate Harper without hurting her feelings.
I push off my knees and get back up to my feet. “Why don’t we figure out the logistics later? I’m starving, and it smells amazing in here. I don’t think I can resist any longer.”
Just as Chloe promised, there’s a veritable buffet laid out on the counter in the kitchen in tin casserole containers. Chloe ushers us over and proudly presents it all.
“That’s my mom’s baked ziti. Nonna’s stuffed artichokes. There’s garlic bread courtesy of moi. Some fresh parmesan straight from Parma—my uncle gets it shipped to the States special order and everything. You don’t put it on your pasta, just slice a piece off and eat it plain like this.”
I watch her take a bite and stand arrested by her reaction—her soft moan, her head tipping back in ecstasy, eyes fluttering closed. I grip my damn plate hard enough to crack it down the middle.
We eat, and we eat. One thing’s for certain: Chloe has forever ruined Harper and me. We’ll be desolate if she ever leaves us. My sad burned dinners are too misery-inducing to even consider now.
Chloe eats with us—I insist on it—and Harper fills every possible moment with chatter. She tells Chloe everything about Texas, from the color of my parents’ horses to the fact that she was allowed to stay up a little past her bedtime so she could finish watching a movie with Nana and Papa.
“Dad was a little sad toward the end of the trip, though.”
Oh Lordy, here we go.
“Was he?” Chloe asks, peering over at me curiously.
I shake my head, indicating I have absolutely no idea what’s about to come out of my child’s mouth. In fact, I try to get Harper’s attention with a not-so-subtle kick under the table, but my aim’s off. I end up kicking the table leg and shaking everyone’s water glasses.