Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
She’s asking if she used ‘supervise’ correctly. “That’s right.”
“I think it’d be really fun. Can I? Pleeease?”
“I’ll call your dad and check. He may have plans tonight.”
I hope, I think but don’t say. The twinkle in Emery’s eye has a quality of conspiracy to it, almost like she’s decided to play Cupid and set me and her dad up. I’d normally be wary of thinking like this about a seven-year-old, but Emery is very precocious. As the phone rings, I wonder what direction that talented streak in her will take. Nurtured by Sloane, it could become cunning, calculating. With Gray, it’s bound to end up selfless and productive.
“Hey,” Gray says, sounding a little withdrawn.
“Sorry. Is it a bad time?”
“No. Is Emery okay?”
I smile. That’s always his first question. He never planned on becoming a single father, but he rose to the challenge so freaking well. “Yeah, she’s great. Actually, she’s had an idea. She wants to cook us a meal tonight.”
“Oh really?” His tone grows warm. I imagine him sitting at his desk in the city, looming over it, a smile on his handsome face. “That’s cute. Any particular reason.”
“I don’t know. She seems really into the idea, though.”
“Who would I be to tell her no?” he says, chuckling. Am I imagining it, or does the laughter seem forced? Could I tell, just by the tone of his voice? “Yeah, sure. I should be home in about two hours.”
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“You just sound… different. I’m sorry I blew you off last night.” What am I even saying? I shouldn’t be apologizing. I made the right choice. But I don’t like this cold feeling coming from him. Which makes me a hypocrite, because I’m trying my best to be cold toward him.
“You were being the mature you,” he says. “I’m the one with gray in my hair, but you were thinking straight.”
“Silver,” I murmur.
“Callie?”
“Your hair, when I look at it, it doesn’t seem gray. It seems silver, almost like you chose to make it that way. But you didn’t dye it. That’s just not you. Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m probably not making any sense.”
“Whatever you’re saying, it sounds like a compliment. I’ll take it.”
When he chuckles, I laugh too. It feels way too easy.
***
When Gray arrives home, I sense something off with him. He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it up, kneeling to give Emery a hug. When he looks at me, something almost like fear flashes across his eyes. It’s as if he’s afraid of what he feels for me—like he can’t take it anymore. Or am I flattering myself by thinking like that?
“Daddy, can I cook some burgers, please? For you and Callie?”
“And for yourself, sweetness.”
“No, this is your meal.”
He smiles. “Okay, then, mystery girl. Let’s go.”
The three of us go into the kitchen. Gray walks close to me, near enough so I can feel his heat and smell his cologne, but there’s also that feeling of distance. I want to pinch myself and jolt myself out of these overactive thoughts.
I help Emery get everything set up, and then she turns to me with a very grownup look and says, “Callie, you can’t rush a chef.”
It’s so adorable. Gray and I start laughing. He grins at me, and some of the awkwardness melts away. The two of us sit at the kitchen bar, keeping a close watch on Emery as she begins to make her burgers from minced meat. She’s a very conscientious chef, washing her hands often.
“She’s too cute, isn’t she?” Gray says, looking at me with that conflicted expression.
“The cutest.”
I want to lean over, lower my voice, and ask him if he’s spoken to Sloane or if something else happened today to bother him. I want to ask, Good day at work, hon? And then bring him a hot cocoa or a coffee, maybe a newspaper. He’s making me feel maternal and wifely. It’s strange and not something I signed up for.
“Keep talking, you two,” Emery says, glancing over at us.
“You seem like you’re up to something, little lady,” I say.
“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head, but she’s not kidding anyone.
“Callie’s right,” Gray says. “Why are you so keen on this meal, huh?”
She shakes her head again and then mimes zipping her mouth shut. That gets Gray and me laughing even more. She’s giving us cuteness overload.
“Let me help you with that part,” I say when she’s ready to put the burgers in the oven.
“I can do it,” she says.
I wag my finger at her. “I’ve got no doubt that you can, E-M-E-R-Y.” She giggles, loving it when I spell her name for a change. “But I wouldn’t be a very good nanny if I let you burn yourself, would I?”
“I’m seven years old, not seven months.”
She’s on fire tonight. Gray and I can’t stop laughing. We’re building heartwarming memories, and no matter how much I try to fight it, I can’t. In fact, the cuter she is, the more I realize I don’t want to fight it.