Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
I slide some eggs onto my fork. “As soon as I get to the office?”
“The early bird gets the first kiss.”
“No.” I shake my head. “The early bird gets the worm.”
“Mr. Morgan is not a worm, Maren.” She winks. “You’ll know when the time is right.”
I hope I will. My track record of reading the subtle nuances of men isn’t that great. I thought my ex was about to propose the day he broke up with me.
“I’m taking Dudley for a walk. Text me if you want me to pick up anything.”
I shake my head. “Thank you, but I’m good.”
“And I can help you get into work tomorrow if you need me to.” She tugs on her ponytail. “I can be a few minutes late.”
“You’re not worried that Mr. Calvetti will find out and get mad?”
Her hands fall to her hips. “What’s the worst thing he can do?”
I swat my hand against my hip. “Spank you.”
Her eyes widen before she lets out a giggle. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll eat my breakfast.” I tug on her hand. “You’re the best, Arietta.”
Her cheeks blush. “You stay on the couch and relax.”
I raise my hand in the air as if I’m taking a solemn oath. “I promise I will.”
She leans down to plant a kiss on my forehead. “See you in a bit. Have fun daydreaming about kissing Keats.”
Chapter 37
Keats
I rest my head against the door of my townhouse. I’ve missed this place since I haven’t been here for more than thirty minutes in the past week.
I had to rush to a police station in Brooklyn last night when one of my clients was arrested for being drunk in public.
His image can be repaired, but this reaches much deeper than that. He’s been in a tailspin since his mom died last year. Vodka was his crutch until last night when he took a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge in tears.
The paparazzi wasted no time in uploading images and videos of his despair and arrest.
I called in a few favors to get an attorney on the case, and once bail was set, I handled that too.
We spent the next few hours talking about our plan forward with his wife while his kids slept. Hockey can wait. Rehab can’t. He’s headed to the best program in the state. Grief counseling is a part of the healing process for him, and when he’s ready, his teammates and his millions of fans will be ready to welcome him back.
Just as I’m about to plug my key into the lock on my door, it swings open.
I’m greeted with a scream from my niece. “Surprise!”
I shove my keys into my pocket so I can take her in my arms. She plants a kiss on my cheek. “I missed you, Keats.”
Are there sweeter words than that?
Maybe hearing Maren say them would be even better.
I hold tightly to Stevie as I step over the threshold and into my home.
“You’re strangling him, Stevie.” Berk laughs from where he’s standing.
I notice the paint spots on his jeans and T-shirt immediately. “What are you up to?”
“We painted the laundry room.” Stevie jumps down. “Look at the paint on my shirt.”
I glance down at the white splatter on the front of her pink T-shirt. “Daddy says this is what painters look like.”
Wondering whether the paint is dry, I steal a look at my clothes. I’m dressed down in a navy blue sweater and jeans today. I had just enough time to fit in a quick shower before my phone rang last night with word of the arrest. I threw on the first things I could find in my closet.
I exhale when I notice my clothes are fine.
“I cooked bacon and made some heart-shaped pancakes.” Berk jerks a thumb toward my kitchen. “I saved some in the oven. There’s a smoothie in the fridge too.”
I lean a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Thank you.”
I don’t have to ask why they’re here. I noticed the date thirty minutes ago when I was on the subway platform. I called my brother to tell him I loved him. I left it at that. I didn’t fear that I’d wake him up even though it’s not even eight a.m. yet. I had no idea he took the call from my place.
Layna would have celebrated her birthday today. His townhouse is filled with memories that suffocate him on this day and the anniversary of her death.
My home is his refuge on those days. Keeping his hands busy is the solace he needs to escape his grief.
“We baked a cake for later.” Stevie claps her hands together. “It’s chocolate. That was mommy’s favorite. Today is her birthday.”
Sadness doesn’t pepper her words. She remembers her mom fondly, but the grief she feels can’t compare to what her dad experiences.
Stevie’s comes in waves that roll over her less frequently now. My brother is still drowning. His daughter, his work, and his family and friends are his life preservers.