Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Danny slumped down farther on the couch. “Shuddup. Your inspiring kid tale is making me feel like a big baby.”
Laughing, she threw a cushion at his head. Most people got real quiet when she referred to her accident or its aftermath—or they began to call her brave, or they just didn’t know where to look. If there was one thing about Danny that she didn’t find nemesis-worthy, it was that he’d always seen her—the whole person—her legs or lack of them only one part of her.
The first time they’d met, as young teens, he’d been outraged because she’d dared wear makeup on a beach holiday. He’d spent the entire time fluttering his eyelashes and pretending to put on mascara or otherwise being an insufferable teenage boy. Never once had he treated her like glass, treated her as other. To him, she’d just been a teenage girl he wanted to annoy.
Catching the cushion with the same wild grace he showed on the field, he said, “I mean, I did a whole degree in sports psychology, and I’ve had psychobabble stuff for the team health checks, but this…” He thrust down the cushion and rose. “Can I dig around in your kitchen?”
“Sure.” Curious about what he was planning to do, Catie got up and shifted to the other end of the couch so she could watch him while maintaining her laziness. “Chocolate raisin cookies?”
Once, long ago, Danny had thought cooking was for girls. That, however, had changed deliciously as he grew up.
“We’ll see,” said the grumpy rugby player in the kitchen as he opened the pantry to check out her supplies. “Jeez, princess. Who the fuck stocks this? Saffron strands? Fine dark cooking chocolate? Dried truffles? It must all go to waste half the time.”
“Nah, housekeeping has instructions to go through the cupboards on a regular basis and donate things to the local food banks at least a month prior to expiry. Gives them a chance to get it out to people who need it. Then housekeeping restocks—except for fresh produce. They’re on speed dial to provide that anytime it’s required.”
When Danny just stared at her, she shook her head. “I did try to convince my mother that it doesn’t need to be fully stocked all the time, but she said, ‘Caitlin, if I wish to fly to Dunedin on a moment’s notice, I expect the pantry to be stocked for my chef.’ So this is our compromise.”
She held up a finger. “To be clear, I go out and get my own damn fresh stuff—there should be some stuff still in the fridge from the shop I did when I flew in. The supermarket’s just down the road. If the snow lets up, we can walk there for anything else you need.”
“Humph.” With that, Danny began to pull out baking supplies.
“I wonder what would happen if I posted a shot of you baking?” she said, just to rile him up. “All grumpy and moody and with flour on your hands.” His fans would combust.
“What would happen is that you’d never again get those chocolate raisin cookies.”
“Good threat. I fold.” He made really good chocolate raisin cookies. Better than any store-bought or bakery ones.
Another message pinged her phone, this one from Ísa. Catiebug, have you seen the recent speculation? Gabriel’s been in touch to say the media might try to get to the family.
Yup, Catie answered, her heart a big ball of mush for her big sister. Ani and Soraya and Danny’s team are on top of it. They’re fielding all inquiries.
Okay, good. You just call us if you need any help. Love you.
Love you more. She added the heart emoji. Hug my favorite demons for me.
Ísa sent through an image of Emmaline and Connor in response. Both in their pj’s, they were tumbling around on the living room floor with their dad, clearly “wrestling,” their arms and legs every which way while a grinning and outnumbered Sailor tried to keep them from doing bodily harm to themselves.
Never to each other, however, as nine-year-old Emmaline was fiercely protective of her toddler sibling, who, in turn, thought Emmaline hung the moon. Exactly as Catie had done with Ísa. Still did, to be honest.
Catie immediately saved the photo to her folder for the children of the family.
The mixer started up in the kitchen. Danny wore a look of intense concentration as he added whatever it was he was adding to the mixer—it was the same look he wore on the field at times, usually right before he slipped one of his teammates a pass that no one on the opposition had seen coming.
“Why do you never post online about your baking?” she said when the mixer stopped. His close friends knew about his hobby, but that was a small and tight circle.
A scowling glance before he returned to his wizardry. “It’s an image thing, princess. Does your exhausting pixie-bunny of a publicist teach you nothing?”