Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Small bites, Mais. Easy baby girl,” I tell her, keeping it far enough away that she doesn’t grab it with both hands.
“Bite!” she repeats.
“Small bites,” I warn again.
Taking a small mouthful, she blinks, her brain working out whether she approves or disapproves, then she smiles and giggles.
“You like that, huh? More?”
She makes an excited sound. “More,” I hear, which sounds like, “Mau.”
So I let her take a few more licks. What’s the harm, right? It’s not even a question. She’s capable of pitching a fit if I don’t and the echo in this place is impressive. I’m not about to risk it.
“First taste of ice cream?” comes from my right. A man’s voice.
Naturally, I steal a glance. The second our eyes meet, he smiles. Longish, shaggy dark blond hair in the way artists are allowed to wear it and it looks hip and cool, but not on anyone else. Hazel eyes. Around mid-thirties. He’s attractive. The two crescent-shaped divots on his cheeks even more so. But this ain’t it. I am not here to cruise single fathers. His son is sitting next to him.
“The ice cream. Is it the first time she’s tried it?”
Is he flirting with me, or is he a spy sent by Jordan? On the latter, I have legit grounds to worry about that. On the former, I’ve shut down that part of myself for so long I can’t tell anymore.
When he won’t break eye contact, I determine that he is, in fact, flirting with me. Next to him, his son, a smaller version of him, around five or six, is eating a sandwich and staring at his iPhone. He may as well be on another planet he’s so focused on what he’s watching.
“I think so. She’s not mine. I’m just the babysitter.”
“I’m Todd,” the stranger offers up. “My son Jake.”
Thankfully, Jake is oblivious to his father’s machinations. But now I’m getting an increasingly uncomfortable feeling. The last thing I need is for Jordan to catch me trying to hook up while on the job. I can only imagine how that would play out.
“Riley,” I reply with a tight smile because I can’t be rude. I just don’t have it in me.
“Nice to meet you uh…”––his gaze lowers and his brow furrows––“Hey, I think there’s something wrong with your girl.”
I look down and see two fire engine red spots on Maisie’s cheeks. It looks like someone branded her. There’s no mistaking what they are. The words are on the tip of my tongue but Todd beats me to it.
“I think she’s having an allergic reaction.”
“She’s going to be fine,” the Lennox Hill emergency room doctor tells me, kindness and understanding pouring out of her. I wipe my face of the tears still flowing and wrap my arms around myself. Coming off the adrenaline rush has left me weak, and shaky, and cold to the bone. It doesn’t help that the AC is on full blast and I had the fright chills so bad I sweated through my T-shirt.
Todd, the stranger, helped me rush Maisie to the emergency room and insisted on staying. He and his son are waiting in the visitor’s lounge until Maisie gets the all clear. He’s been so incredibly sweet and helpful he has single-handedly restored my faith in humanity.
I’ve never been more scared in my life. Now I know how Jordan feels all the time and a cavern of sympathy for him has cracked open in my chest a mile wide.
“Where is she?” I hear his raised voice coming from the check-in desk, the panic in it unmistakable. I texted him as soon as we got here. No reply received.
Frantic, he scans the emergency room and our eyes meet. I know then that this is going to be bad and my heartbeat races way ahead of my breath. He’s scared and furious, a dangerous combination, and I seem to be the target of all this unleashed emotion. If I was wondering what it would take for it to come loose, I have my answer, and now that I do I’m sorry I even asked.
And I’m not the only one who notices. As he marches over to us, the nurses and other health care workers loitering in the hall part to let him pass.
“How is she?”
“Mr. West?” the doctor, an Indian woman with dark brown skin and large almond shaped eyes, asks him.
He nods at her, sparing me no greeting. He won’t even look at me. I’m shaking, barely able to hold it together.
“You’re Maisie Noble’s legal guardian?”
“Yes.”
“Maisie has had a mild to moderate allergic reaction to peanuts––”
“Peanuts?” he cuts in. For the first time since he walked up, he blasts me with his attention and I shrink back. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under.
“I-I gave her a few bites of my ice cream…I mean, hazelnut gelato, and um, we think it had peanuts in it.” My mouth being bone dry from anxiety, I do my best to explain. “I didn’t know…”