Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Hi,” he says, bending to kiss her neck as he unbuckles her seat belt. “Good morning.” He kisses her again. “I just put bacon and sausage in the oven.”
“I like pancakes,” Avery says to him as she gets out, and he picks her up to carry her. I slowly get out of the car, trying not to freak out at how huge this house is. “Whose house is this?” I hear Avery ask him as he walks up the stairs. “You live in a mansion.” He just chuckles at her.
“No, I don’t,” he denies as he opens the front door and then places her down on her feet before turning to wait for me.
“That’s what Momma said.” She throws me under the bus, and I gasp.
“I did not.” I try to lie, but my daughter is shaking her head.
“She did.” She points at me, then turns around. “This is nice.”
“If you want, you can go upstairs and see if you can find the room I made for you,” he suggests as I step in. A spiral staircase sits in the middle of the house, and I about groan, of course it comes with a spiral staircase. “Be careful,” he warns her as she walks up the stairs.
He turns to look at me when she gets to the top and turns to walk toward an open door. “Hi,” he repeats to me, closing the distance between us before he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me even closer to him. My heart starts to speed up. “Thanks for coming.” Every single word that I’ve ever learned is thrown out the window. I have no vocabulary in my body, none. “We have to talk. We do.” I don’t know if he’s asking me or telling me.
“We do?” I say and then I’m interrupted when I hear Avery squealing and then running to the railing.
“There is a princess bed!” she shouts, looking through the spindles. “It’s a big princess bed with a dresser and everything.” She looks at Stefano. “Can I play with the toys?”
“You can do what you want. It’s yours,” he replies, and she squeals right before she runs back into the room.
“Come and have some coffee. We can talk before she comes back downstairs.” He drops his arm around my waist and slips his hand into mine. “I’ll give you the tour after,” he tells me as we walk past what looks like an office, and on the other side, I think, is a dining room, but all there is are hanging lights with no table.
I stop in my tracks when we walk into the kitchen that has a little table off to the side, but there is a huge island in the middle of the room with six stools tucked under. But it’s the attached family room that makes my feet stop. It’s what I always thought my family room would look like. It’s what I’ve always dreamed my family room would look like. Definitely not like the family room I grew up in, where everything had a place, and you were afraid to touch anything. Where pictures were displayed because of who was in the pictures and not because it was a nice picture. No, this room is where you know it’s okay to curl up on the couch. Where you can sit and have a movie night with throw blankets. Where you can lie down and take a little nap.
A huge couch sits in the room that can seat a lot of people, with a big square table in the middle facing a fireplace. A big-screen television is hanging above it. “This is—” I start to say as he lets go of my hand and walks into the kitchen. “This is perfect,” I tell him softly before I smell the coffee, turning to watch him put another pod in the coffee maker.
“Where do you want to sit?” he asks me, grabbing the milk from the fridge and pouring a bit in each cup.
“The couch, if it’s okay,” I say, trying to hide how badly I want to sit down and curl my feet under myself.
He walks toward the couch with both cups of coffee and waits for me to follow him before he hands me a cup and I sit down, but not the way I want. I take a sip while Stefano faces me. “Do you know what I do for work?” he asks.
“I don’t.” I just look at him, placing the cup of coffee on the big wooden table. I look for coasters in the middle, where a big square tray holds remotes and a notepad, but nothing else.
“I’m a forensic accountant,” he says, putting his own cup on the table, so I don’t feel as bad.
“What does that mean?” I tilt my head to the side and he leans back onto the couch.