Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
She giggles when my beard brushes her skin.
“Thanks for understanding. I knew you would.”
“I get it, even if I hate it.”
With her eyes lidded, she leans forward and kisses me again.
“I love you, Wardhole.”
And that’s enough for now.
Patience.
How could I own an architecture firm if I didn’t know it takes time to build beautiful lasting magic?
Still, I have to figure out what the blueprint looks like that’s going to get my girl back for good.
My life isn’t complete until I’m waking up with a woman I’d trade the sunrise for every single day.
29
Trojan Horse (Paige)
Months Later
My Sunday night community class is almost over.
The Chicago-priced ticket fees cover the cost of free classes I do for several YMCA programs throughout the week.
Today we mimicked molding objects from several sample pieces. Most people went with the fruit bowl I provided and a few brought in their own figurines.
“That’s a lovely cat! If you pinch each side together at the top, the ears will be more pointed,” I say.
“Oh, thank you, dear,” the older lady says with a smile.
Her pinch is kinda wimpy, so the ears come out rounded, but they’re more pointed than they were before. Not that it matters when her sunburst smile means everything.
Sabrina and Magnus are here, molding a bumpy pineapple together. Her phone rings. She drags her clay-covered fingers over the apron she’s wearing and answers it.
“Hey, brat.” I give her a pretend scowl. “No phones in class.”
She rolls her eyes at me.
“Hello?”
She’s quiet for a minute, then covers her phone with her hand before I hear her whisper to her hubby, “Jordan wants to know if he can spend the night at a friend’s place...”
“He’s not leaving until we’re home.” Mag looks up from focusing intently on the franken-pineapple like it’s his latest genius business idea.
Brina throws her head back and laughs. “That’s between brothers.”
She puts her phone to Mag’s ear.
“Buddy, don’t leave before I’m home,” Mag grumbles. He’s quiet for a minute. “Okay. We’ll be home in an hour. Fair warning, if you’re not there, Armstrong will track you down and deliver you to your mother so she can crucify you. Got it? Even though you just turned eighteen, she still worries herself sick.”
He’s quiet again. “Yes. I liked me more when I was fun too. Bye.”
Brina drops the phone back in her purse, flashing me a wink.
I pick up a flat silver tool from the table.
“Here, use this to smooth out your pumpkin,” I joke.
Brina and Mag exchange a worried glance, then her hubby meets my eyes.
“It’s a Maui pineapple,” he says defensively.
“Oh, it is?” I’m trying not to snicker.
“...the skin’s textured,” Mag says, twisting his lips as he surveys his misshapen lump of chicken-scratch lines.
Brina gives me a helpless look.
“Don’t even say it. I studied graphics design, not playing with dirt. I’m here to support the kids,” she says matter-of-factly.
Mag laughs. “And I’m here mangling fruit because my lovely wife said I had to be. Also, it annoys my little brother. He can’t leave our place until we’re home. Somehow, that’s worth everything.”
I giggle, the endless banter between Ward and Nick flashing in my mind, even if they’re a lot closer in age than Magnus and Jordan.
“Well, that’s a nice pineapple in progress. Hang in there, Heron, you’ll get there,” I say, smiling as Mag shoots me a dirty look.
“You didn’t even recognize it,” Brina tells me flatly.
“Umm—it’s the thought that counts?” I move on to check the other students, offering feedback on a few more sculptures before I notice the clock.
Oh, crap.
“Okay, class, time’s almost up!” I call with a clap of my hands. “So if you could start cleaning up, that would be great. If you need to leave a sculpture here to be heated, just leave it at your seat and you can come pick it up in a few days. If you haven’t finished or you want to practice more at home, the supplies are yours to keep. You can bring your final back any time the studio is open, and I’ll fire it up.”
Everyone files out with a burst of giddy chatter except for Brina and Mag. They stay after every time they’re here so we can talk.
And I’m already expecting the first question before it darts out of her mouth.
“Okay. When are you and the Wardhole making it official?” she asks.
My cheeks heat.
“I don’t know. We’re taking it easy, remember? We haven’t really talked about—”
“Yeah, right. He’s always at your place.”
I shrug. She knows he asked me to move in the night we got back together and I turned him down because I like being difficult.
But seriously, I need respect. Commitment. Possibly a real ring this time.
“You mean Mr. Bossypants hasn’t brought it up again?” Brina asks.
“Stay out of it, Fido. These things always work out in their own good time.” Mag drops his hand on Brina’s leg.