Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Sniffing, I realized my eyes were starting to water. Ah hell. I hated it when I cried. Hated. It. And how dare he turn this all back on me? I hated him, too.
Thank God he wasn’t leaving us.
“I’m glad you’re staying,” I managed to say. Painter snorted, then shifted the SUV back into gear. I sniffled a little as he started driving toward my little house in Fernan. It wasn’t much, but it had a fenced yard that Izzy loved. Not only that, someday it would be ours.
No landlords to hassle us. No leases to negotiate or rising rent.
Never again.
“It was a flattering offer,” Painter admitted, turning down Sherman. “But I already lost way too much of Izzy’s life. Not to mention I fuckin’ hate cities. Way too many damned people. Just like being in prison again.”
That made me laugh, a pathetic sound but still better than crying.
“I’m sorry I called you an asshole,” I said after a long silence.
“It’s okay,” he replied. “I am an asshole. And what you went through on your own with Izzy and everything, that’ll never be okay. But I’ve grown up since then, and I’m a loyal fucker. One day you’re gonna figure out that I’m serious when I say I’m here to stay.”
God, but I wanted to believe him. Wanted it too much.
• • •
We didn’t talk after that, and ten minutes later we pulled up to my place. Loni had grown up here and lived here until she moved in with Reese. Not in this same house, of course. That one had burned down from a gas leak. She’d used the insurance money to rebuild, and had kept it as a rental. Last year I’d gone to her and made her an offer, asking her if I could buy it on contract.
When she’d said yes, I’d hardly been able to believe it.
“Don’t forget, I’m taking Izzy to the family party out at the club tomorrow,” Painter said as we rolled to a stop in the driveway.
“I haven’t. She and I are going to make cookies in the morning. She wants to bring something like the big girls do,” I told him. He smiled.
“You could come with us, you know.”
I sighed, closing my eyes.
“I’ll probably be hungover,” I admitted. “I think I’ll just stay home. There’s a lot of laundry to catch up on.”
“Coward.”
For once I didn’t argue.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, looking over at him. He stared back at me, thoughtful in the darkness.
“This isn’t over.”
I couldn’t think of a damned thing to say in response, because I knew he was right.
It would never be over between us.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SUNDAY AFTERNOON—ONE MONTH LATER
“More pink?” Jessica asked Izzy. The little girl laughed maniacally, grabbing the container of pink sugar crystals and shaking it over the tops of the cupcakes. I’d read an article a couple weeks back that said science has proven there’s no connection between children eating sugar and crazed behavior.
Science lies.
“There’s more frosting than cake,” I pointed out, leaning against the kitchen counter. Sherri sniffed.
“That’s the best part,” she said. “The cake exists to convey the frosting—that’s the only reason you bake it.”
“You’re not the one who’s going to be stuck with a kid jacked on sugar all night.”
“Neither are you,” Jess said pointedly. “This is Painter’s time bomb. Which means you have a night free, and yet something tells me you don’t have a hot date. Why don’t you have a boyfriend, Mel? You’re pretty, you’re smart, you make good money, and you really shouldn’t be sitting at home alone.”
She raised a brow pointedly. I widened my eyes, glancing toward Izzy, wordlessly insisting that we not talk in front of her.
“Don’t think you’ll get off that easy,” Jess said, her voice dark. “Izzy, are you almost done?”
“Yup,” Izzy said, smiling at us broadly. The entire lower half of her face was smeared with frosting. No¸ make that her entire face. She even had some in her hair.
“You need a bath before Daddy gets here,” I told her. “Let’s go!”
“Daddy said I can eat chips!” she announced proudly, sliding off her chair to walk into the bathroom.
“We’re talking about this,” Jess warned me. “You’re twenty-five now. If you don’t exercise your lady parts, they’ll get all shriveled. Do you want shriveled lady parts?”
“What are lady parts?” Izzy asked.
“Auntie Jessica is making bad choices,” I told her primly. “Go hop in the tub. I’ll be right there.”
Izzy looked confused, then shook herself like a puppy and took off toward the bathroom.
“You can’t say things like that in front of Izzy!” I said. “Now, watch—she’ll ask me about it in front of Reese—or Painter.”
Jess cocked a brow in challenge.
“If you’d get off your ass and find a man, I wouldn’t have to say things like that.”
I glanced at Sherri, looking for an ally. She was digging through the fridge, then pulling out a beer triumphantly.