Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
And through all of that, I never saw any signs that Will was some horrid man just out to bang his nanny.
It just wasn’t who he was.
Chef Patel’s words were what I clung to more than anything — perhaps foolishly. I wanted to believe she was right, that he was just scared like I was, that he needed a moment.
But my heart kept banging against my ribs and reminding me that she could be wrong.
It was nearly four o’clock now, and I still hadn’t heard from Will.
Mom laughed at something Lorelei Gilmore said, her belly jiggling against my head and drawing me back to the present. I watched the screen with my eyes losing focus, and then, the doorbell rang.
“I got it,” Grandma called.
Mom barely acknowledged it, and I was too weak to move from where I laid.
That was — until I heard a familiar, deep voice.
I shot upright, eyes wide and hands flying up to try to tame what I knew was a wild bird’s nest of hair.
“What?” Mom asked, alarmed, but I was already on the move.
I wiped my face just in case there were any tears still there, hands smoothing over my wrinkled dress as I rounded the living area into the foyer.
My legs stopped working as soon as I saw him.
Will stood in the doorway, his expression solemn and sincere as he said something to my grandmother. When he saw me, he stopped mid-sentence, his eyes taking in what I knew to be a haggard appearance.
But he looked at me like I was everything.
His eyes were wide, brow creasing a bit like he immediately wanted to hold me and erase the pain I knew was laden in every feature. He looked like just as much of a mess as me, his face long, fatigue written all over him from his tired eyes to his slumped shoulders.
But God, he was still gorgeous.
He was still the man who had framed my face last night and kissed me oblivious. He was still the father who cared more for his daughter than anything in the world. He was still the starting goalie for a playoff hockey team, the friend who bought me, a grown woman, a makeover at the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique.
King of my heart.
Said heart thumped faster when Will took a step, his eyes locked on mine, jaw tight.
But Grandma pressed her metal spatula into his chest, keeping him from moving one more inch.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here,” she grumped at him, and I didn’t need to see her face to know it was the one I used to get when I’d make the mistake of talking back to her as a child.
“Grandma,” I hissed, rushing the rest of the way down the hall. I tried to scoot her aside, but the old woman was built like a brick house.
“You go on back inside, Chloe May, I’ll handle this one.”
I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose when she started tapping her spatula against her other hand like it was a baseball bat and she was the leader of a street gang.
“Who is it?” Mom called, on her way to join us.
Great.
“If it’s Marv again, I already told him we—”
Mom’s words cut off when she joined us in the hall, and she narrowed her gaze before pulling me behind her like she had to save me.
“I know you aren’t stupid enough to show your face here after what you’ve put our little girl through,” Mom seethed.
My face was flaming hot as I grimaced and caught Will’s gaze through the blockade my matriarch had made around me. Sorry I mouthed, embarrassment flooding my nervous system.
But Will just smiled, the corner of his lips lifting before he stood taller, shoulders squared, and looked right at my mom when he said, “I’m afraid I am, ma’am. Stupid, that is.”
His eyes met mine again.
“Stupidly in love with your daughter.”
• • •
Will
I felt like a bunny rabbit trying to infiltrate a coyote’s den.
Chloe’s mom glared at me harder after the words left my mouth, and her grandma clucked her tongue like I was an idiot. I wasn’t here to argue that.
Instead, I kept my focus on Chloe, watching as her lips parted when I confessed what I’d known to be true far longer than I wanted to admit.
She was an absolute wreck — the most beautiful mess I’d ever seen. Her hair was matted and wavy, sticking to her neck and chin, the back of it fluffed up behind her like she was a pissed-off bird of some kind. Her face was ashen, save for the blush that touched her cheeks, and even with the distance between us, I could see evidence that she’d been crying.
I hated myself for that, for making her wonder where my head was all day long. I found myself again longing for a time machine to go back to this morning, to have climbed into bed with her and pulled her against me and woke her with a dozen kisses before telling her the truth.