Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Her nose wrinkles. “I’m not hungry.”
“You will eat. Your stomach must be completely empty after you released the contents of it all over my office floor.”
Embarrassment moves in. It’s ridiculous. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I push her wet hair over her shoulder. “Get some clothes on. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” I leave her with a quick kiss and go down to see Cathy.
50
But I find the kitchen empty. “Cathy?”
“In here, boy.”
I look toward the laundry room as I go to the fridge. “Morning.” I pluck down a jar of peanut butter, settling on a stool and diving in.
She appears at the doorway, a bag in her hands, her face wrinkled in question. “What’s this on the shelf, boy? It’s blocking the washing powder.” She peeks into the bag and pulls out a box, and I still on my stool, my finger hanging out of my mouth. Please don’t come downstairs yet, Ava. My brain’s yelling at me to get up, go to her, take the bag before she has a chance to figure out what those boxes are. “Damn it,” she curses, squinting at the label. “I need my specs.”
I drop my jar and dash over, swiping the bag from one hand and the box from the other. “Just some meds,” I say, smiling like a dickhead, instinctively putting the bag behind my back.
“Some meds? You going into the pharmaceuticals business, boy?”
I laugh, harder than it’s funny, and scoot past her, opening a cupboard and shoving the bag inside.
“Oh, I see,” she muses as I shut the door and stare at it. She sees what? “Well, I suppose going cold turkey might have its side effects.”
What the fuck is she talking about? I turn with a monster frown as she opens the dishwasher. And it clicks. She thinks I need meds to help me give up the drink? I laugh to myself. The irony. I probably do. “They’re just a backup,” I say, taking my stool and my jar again.
She looks up and smiles. Not at me, but past me, and I turn to see Ava in the doorway, her body swathed in baggy clothes. “Good morning, Ava,” Cathy says.
Ava sits, and my nose moves in, smelling her. Clean. All poison washed and rubbed away. “Hi, Cathy,” she says, flapping her hands at me. “How are you?” She looks at me, scowling at me crowding her. We have some making up to do. I dip my finger and rub it across her lip, and her face twists with disgust. She’s adorable, her chin smeared in my vice. Let’s not waste it. I lean in and lick it off.
Ava and Sun-Pat. “Yum.”
“I’m very well,” Cathy says, as Ava bats me away. “Would you like some breakfast? Salmon?”
“Please.” Relaxing, she watches Cathy faff around our kitchen, looking content. Happy. Everything she said to me this morning rings in my head. We’re back on track. Finally. “We have some news, Cathy,” I say, feeling Ava’s curious eyes fall onto me. “Ava will soon be Mrs. Ward.”
Cathy looks directly at me, and I realize I might have just made a huge mistake. Fuck, will she assume I’ve told Ava everything? “Oh, how wonderful!” She drops everything in her hands and makes a beeline for Ava, and I wince when she hugs her, rubbing at her back. “Oh, I’m so happy.” Finally releasing Ava, she looks at her with so much appreciation, I hope Ava sees it. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me,” she gushes, feeling at Ava’s cheeks, while Ava looks at her, a little shook. “He’s a good boy.” And now she’s kissing her. Jesus, Cathy, too much. I fear the worst when my lovely housekeeper turns her attention my way. I slowly lower my peanut butter in preparation of her attack. I’m forced into her chest, powerless to stop her, as Ava looks at me, mystified. By Cathy or me? “My boy is finally settling down.” She frees me. Oh no. Her eyes are tearing up.
“Cathy, stop that,” I warn gently, praying there is no mention of the part of my past that Ava still doesn’t know about.
“I’m sorry.” Flapping a hand in her own face, like she’s flapping away the tears, she returns to making breakfast. “So, where and when?”
“Next month at The Manor,” I say, relaxing a little, looking at Ava when the coffee pot she’s just picked up clangs against something.
Her eyebrows shoot up as she looks at me. “Really?”
“Really.” I’ve searched high and low for a venue. There’s nothing. Not until next year or the year after, and I can’t wait that long. I’m impatient. Excited. I appreciate The Manor isn’t her favorite place, but I can change that. Make her see it in a different light. The building, the decor, the architecture, the grounds. Not what happens upstairs, but the beauty of the building and its surroundings. I’ve only recently started appreciating it myself.