Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
She beams up at him as he says, “Thank you for keeping an eye out for her.”
“She’s my best friend,” Vivian says, so sure of herself, it brings tears to my eyes. “Mommy says you always love your best friend forever and forever. My mommy’s best friend is Auntie Jaylin, and they love each other very much.”
Her words hit me square in the chest, and like a magnet, my eyes snap to Thatcher’s. He’s watching me, still rubbing Arwen’s back, and his voice is rough as he says, “Yeah, your mommy is a smart woman and very right. The love for a best friend is one of the greatest loves on this earth, especially when it can grow into something more.”
I’m speechless, but Vivian isn’t. “Something more?”
His eyes don’t leave mine as he says, “Yeah, you’ll know what I mean when you’re older.”
I’ve never seen such truth in a person’s eyes—until my best friend of a lifetime looks at me as more than just a friend, but as everything to him.
Crazy thing is, I really do enjoy the title more than that of baby mama…
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Thatcher and I almost kissed.”
I know it’s pathetic, but I refuse to use the word we or us when I’m able to think before I speak. Ingrid meets my gaze in the mirror and asks, “What?”
I think I said it because I knew she couldn’t hear me that well or read my lips. I wanted to say it out loud, taste it on my lips just as I want to taste him. My heart still isn’t beating correctly. It reminds me more of a kick drum being played by a cracked-out rocker than it does a vital organ. But then, that’s how it has always been when I think of him.
When I’m around him.
When he smiles at me.
When he’s being a father.
Feeling a bit brave, I repeat myself, and Ingrid’s eyes widen with excitement. “Why didn’t you kiss?”
“Arwen interrupted us.”
Her lips curve up. “This is why I’m not having kids. I don’t want anyone interrupting me when I want to kiss my man.”
I raise a brow. “Your man? Do you have someone in mind?”
She waves me off. She has never been super boy crazy. Only concerned with school and bettering herself. I know Maeve worries, but I truly think that Ingrid doesn’t need anyone. One day, though, someone will come along that she will want. No matter what, Ingrid will shine. “Not at all. Also, I’m not saying that I don’t adore my sweet niece, but this is why you two need tonight.”
I am well aware, but that doesn’t mean the butterflies aren’t doing aerial acrobatics in my belly. Our parents took Arwen with them as soon as we got home from the party. I don’t know if Thatcher had told them or if they eavesdropped, but they told us to enjoy ourselves. I made sure to give my sweet girl all the kisses, but she was too entertained by her dedes acting like horses that needed a rider.
I don’t remember my dad ever giving me a horseback ride as a kid, but then, aren’t parents the total opposite when they have grandkids? I think I saw that on Instagram, and now I know it’s true.
I’m upstairs in my room as Ingrid fusses over me. She’s curling my hair after doing my makeup so light, only to enhance my features, but she’s left my freckles on display. She keeps grinning, her eyes shining, and I can tell she’s excited for me. For the possibilities of tonight. If I allowed myself to, I’d have to admit I am too. It’s our first date, something we’ve never had, and while I am still so freaked out about allowing myself to let my feelings for him loose, it’s getting harder not to do so. He’s just so open, so blatantly into me, and I want to do the same. I want to be his. I want him to be mine, but something is holding me back.
Hopefully after tonight, though, that will change.
“Did you want to kiss him?”
I scoff at that, but then I hide my face so she can’t see the flush. Of course I did, but I don’t know if I’m ready to admit that.
“You should have kissed him anyway,” Ingrid says, and I cut my eyes up to her.
A grin curves my lips as I say, “Oh yeah?”
She nods as if she knows she’s right. “Yeah, the sexual tension between you is a living, breathing thing. All of us feel it, and maybe if you act on it, things will be toned down and not leave us all gagging.”
I snort a laugh at that, though, I don’t think there is any toning down what’s between Thatcher and me. As she said, it’s a living, breathing thing that is begging for us to act on our desires. But damn it, the last time we did, everything blew up in our faces.