Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“When is Zara coming back?” he asks me, and I shrug, taking an apple out of the bowl and then cutting it for him.
“Not sure yet, buddy,” I reply, my palms sweating when I think of the last conversation I had with her this morning. She’s been on my mind all day long, which is nothing new. But now it’s the whole conversation that replayed in my head all day long. What do you want from this? The loaded fucking question. My stomach literally tightens every time I think about it. I place the plate of apples and banana in front of him with a little scoop of peanut butter.
He looks at the plate and then back at me. “Zara places the bananas down and then puts the peanut butter on them.” He looks at me like I just failed him as a parent before looking down at the fruit plate as if I handed him garbage. “It’s better like that.”
“Duly noted,” I mumble. “I’m going to take a shower before I have to leave,” I tell him, walking to my bedroom and seeing the bed unmade, which pisses me off. I look at the picture by the bed of the three of us at the gender reveal, Colson tucked on Zara’s side holding the pink hat with me holding the blue hat. I quickly take a shower, putting on a pair of fresh jeans and a black T-shirt. Colson has packed up all his things and has demolished the fruit plate by the time I’m back.
“Mom just called. She’s coming early,” he tells me, and then we hear a honk. He comes over to me, hugs me around my waist, and I bend down to kiss his head.
“Tell Zara to come home,” he urges before he grabs his hat and runs out the door to his mother’s truck.
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I think, walking to the sink and putting the plate in there before grabbing my own hat and heading out earlier than expected.
I walk into the back of the bar and go straight to my office. I toss my keys onto the desk before I take out my phone and pull up her number. I press call, and the phone goes to voicemail right away. “You’ve reached Zara Petrov. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.”
“Hey, Sweetheart,” I say softly, “can you call me back?” I close my eyes and press end before I tell her fucking voicemail that I love her instead of telling her to her face. Putting the phone in my back pocket, I head out to the bar area. I spot a couple of people I know, holding up my hand and going straight to the back of the bar.
“What’s up, AJ?” I ask the other bartender, who just smirks. “We busy?”
“No, it’s been pretty dead since I got here,” he states, and I work beside him until around seven when I see maybe ten people left in the bar.
“Why don’t you take off?” I tell him. “Save it for the weekend.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He tosses the rag he was using to wipe down the bar to me. “See you later.”
I smile as I wipe down the bar top and then look down at the server, who is standing by the side, waiting to do something. “If you want to cash them out and then tell them to come see me if they need anything, you can.”
“You sure?” she asks, and I nod as she goes to the three tables and gives them their checks. She comes back, closing up all her accounts, and handing me her float. “See you Saturday,” I tell her, and she just smiles and walks out the back.
It takes an hour before everyone else gets up and leaves, which isn’t bad for a Wednesday night. Usually, it’s booming between five and seven, and then everyone ends up leaving. I’m picking up a couple of empties and walking back to the bar when I hear the door open. I turn my head to look over and tell the person that we’re closed, but I have to do a double take when I see her walking in.
She looks around, seeing the bar empty, but all I can do is stare at her. She stands there in a sweater dress of some sort with her cowboy boots on, her baby bump getting much bigger as the days go by. “Sweetheart,” I greet softly when she stops in the middle of the room. “What are you doing here?” I ask, shocked but not really caring at this point, as long as she’s here.
“Well,” she starts, “we were having a conversation this morning, and you didn’t even call me back to finish it.”
“Um—” I start to say, but she holds up her hand, and all I can do is raise my eyebrows.