Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
“You wanna go see what kind of treats Aunt Juni brought this time?” Case is over a year old now. He says a few words, mainly dada and nana. He doesn't give me an answer, but his nodding is answer enough. Ryland is worried he’s not talking nearly enough, but the pediatrician keeps telling him he’s doing fine. I stand up first. He lifts his arms up, bouncing up and down on his feet impatiently while waiting on his uncle to get with the program.
“I hear ya buddy, loud and clear.” I scoop him up in my arms, settle him on my hip, and make our way from the living room into the kitchen. He’s taken a few steps before plopping his little butt on the floor and giving up. He’s a speedster with crawling, getting from point A to point B. Can’t say that I blame him. I always say work smarter, not harder. Case makes a humming noise, hand going out with his pointer finger at his daddy once we round the corner into the kitchen.
“Da, da, da, da.” Ryland looks up at Case and me, an éclair stuffed in his mouth. He knows his luck has run out. His boy has a sweet tooth exactly like him, and there is no way in hell we can say no to the little rascal. Though we do make sure his diet doesn’t consist of just sweets.
“Looks like you gotta share this time, brother.”
Ryland nods and breaks a small piece of dough off his éclair, making sure not to give him any chocolate and I appreciate that. The first thing Case will do is take it back out of his mouth, wrap his fingers around the dessert, and then proceed to chew on it. The lasting effect will be on his fingers, which he’ll then rub anywhere he can without a care in the world.
“Let me take him from you.” Ry tips his head over his shoulder, telling me telepathically to get my shit together and keep Trey out of my cinnamon rolls. The damn fool doesn’t even like them. He lives to raise hell, baiting everyone with something or the other. He’ll bet you anything at any time, especially when there’s a chore he doesn’t want to do. Currently, he’s been giving me hell when it comes to Maeve Oliver. There’s only so much I’ll take. A phone call to Amos Ellison will put him firmly in his place. I’ve yet to do that and I’d like not to, but if my brother keeps trying my motherfucking hand, I’ll throw his ass to the wolves. After all, turnabout is fair play.
My eyes lock on the three boxes on the kitchen table, one of them is still closed. They're sage in color with pink cursive font spelling out Whisked Away over a faded white whisk in the background. Soft and sweet, exactly like the woman herself.
I keep my lips zipped, jaw clenched, and my eyes diverted from the others in the room. Much like I have for the past month. My hunger for Maeve is barely controllable. The reasons I’m holding myself back are plentiful. The list is probably as long as my fucking arm.
She’s ten years younger than me.
She radiates innocence.
And my cravings would send her running. I want to watch Maeve drop to her knees and crawl toward me, naked. And the need to hear her call me daddy while her cunt is choking my cock is almost overwhelming.
But now she’s dating some damn businessman, who wears pressed pants for god’s sake. When I saw her at Prime Cuts, it took everything in my power to turn and walk away. The only reason I could is because she deserves better than me. She needs a man who is better for her.
“JW, those are for you. Maeve wanted me to let you know those will probably be the last. She’s discontinuing them once this batch is gone. Apparently, they’re not big sellers, and you haven’t been around in a few weeks...” Juniper leaves the sentence open. I’ve stayed away, allowing her the chance to live her life without invading her space.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
“JW.” Mom comes up beside me, pinching behind my upper arm and saying my name in that stern manner of hers. “Case’s vocabulary does not need the four-letter word variety. You’ll curb your mouth or find yourself banished to the porch.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I should have known her ears would hear me.
“Hey, if it helps you feel any better, JW,” Tully says around a mouthful, “she’s discontinuing croissants too. Luckily not my favorite chocolate-filled ones. Though, that’s probably because I stop by any day I can to pick one up. Even if no one else places an order here at the ranch.”
I mull over what Tully says, it seems everyone and their brother has appeared inside the house since I’ve been here. Two plus two is not equaling four. At first, I figured this had something to do with me keeping away from Maeve. Now that Tallulah told me about the croissants, which I’ve had for lunch when Mom served her famous chicken salad on them enough times to know they’re damn good. I’d say there’s a whole lot more to Maeve than I’m being led to believe.