Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Bailey hoists my arm and drags me back to our cul-de-sac. She is bearing my full weight under her slight shoulders.
She grunts in pain every step she takes, but I don’t make it easier for her because I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself.
When we get to the cul-de-sac, she heads to her house, not mine. I’m sure people are looking for us. Our phones have been turned off since Dad said he’d kill us if he heard a ringtone during the ceremony.
At her house, Bailey brings me dry clothes from her dad’s closet and draws me a warm bath, throwing a bunch of girly bath bombs in there to make the water pink and smell like marshmallow.
When I get out, I pad barefoot downstairs and find her in the kitchen. Her clothes are still damp, and her hair looks like a hay bale. A mouthwatering scent of fresh pastry and spiced meat curls from the oven.
She made Mom’s secret recipe for my hands-down favorite meal. Burek. It’s a pie with meat in it, and it’s freaking delicious. I first had it six years ago during a family trip to Turkey. Mom swore she’d learn how to make it and ended up giving it her own twist—hers didn’t only have lamb meat but also creamy mushrooms and melted cheese.
Bailey’s burek—fresh and hot—is a replica in both appearance and taste. Down to the sesame drizzled on top, glued by egg yolk, and spinach-potato dip next to it.
The pastry is crispy as it snaps between my teeth. The different tastes unfold in my mouth. I tip my head back, letting my eyelids drop. “How?” I groan. “It’s uncanny.”
Bailey grabs a seat across from me, her face and dress still caked in mud. “This one took seven times to get right. The dough has to be super thin.”
“Tell me her secret ingredient.”
“And lose my edge on you?” She curves an eyebrow, blasé. “Dream on, Cole.”
“You should do as I ask. My mom just died.” I finish the rest of the thing in one bite and lick my fingers, releasing them with a pop.
“Dude, you can’t even turn on the oven. You once microwaved a raw turkey on Thanksgiving.”
“Dad should’ve never given me the task.” I grab a bunch of paper towels and dab the residual oil from my face.
“He didn’t. He asked you to give it to Rosie!” She is on the verge of laughing but bites it down. I think she thinks I’ll get mad if she ever shows she is happy again.
I glance down at my watch, and shit, it’s already ten at night. How long have we been gone? Are Jaime and Mel still at our place?
As if reading my mind, Bailey bites her lower lip. “Everyone’s probably looking for us.”
“I’m not ready to face the world yet,” I admit quietly.
“That’s not true. You’re facing me,” she points out.
“You’re not the world.” I shake my head. “Almost eight billion people on this planet, Bailey Followhill, and you’re hands down my fucking favorite.”
“I may be your favorite.” Bailey slides her hand across the surface, lacing her fingers through mine. “But you’re my only. And that scares me, Levy. A lot.”
I’m about to ask her what she means by that when her front door flies open, crashing against the wall.
Jaime, Mel, Daria, and Penn flood inside in a burst of heated conversation and sniffles.
“Bailey? Lev?” Mel’s anxiety sucks the oxygen clean out of the room before she even enters it all the way. “Are you there?”
“In the kitchen, Mom.” Bailey hops to her feet, blocking everyone’s way from accessing me.
In this moment, I can’t imagine myself ever letting her fall in love with someone else. I will always want every piece and atom of Bailey Followhill. Every cell and smile. Every goddamn breath she takes belongs to me.
It scares me, the things I am capable of doing to keep her. I don’t think I have boundaries. No healthy conscience. If it’s her or the entire fate of humanity, I’d still not spare it a moment of thought—fuck the world. I choose her.
“Oh my Marx, I’m so going to murder your asses! You scared us half to death!” Daria lunges at her baby sister, shaking her shoulders with her pink-tipped salon nails. “I’m going to kill you, Bails.”
“Wow, Dar. Total great choice of words. Very sensitive. You should write speeches for presidents,” Bailey grumbles as she politely untangles herself from her sister’s clutches.
“I’m just getting heavy Pisces energy in this room right now.” Daria frowns, looking between us. “Did something bad happen?”
“Yeah,” I say flatly. “My mom died.”
“I meant besides that.” Daria doesn’t even blush; she’s that much of a badass bitch. “Was Rosie a Pisces?”
“I think so.” Daria’s fucking crazy. Do I really want her gene pool for my future children? Fuck, for Bailey, yeah, I guess. “Why?”