Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
It was then that I saw it.
The gloves with holes in them. The shoes worn halfway through the rubber. Her greasy hair. The way her jeans were sagging off of her waist and legs, like she’d lost a lot of weight since she’d originally gotten them.
“How about I buy you something to eat, and you tell me who taught you to pick a pocket that well,” Cinna suggested, that big, gooey heart of hers never able to walk away from a street kid in need.
“Fine,” the girl said, looking annoyed, but there was relief in her blue eyes as she fell into step beside Cinna.
“What’s your name?” Cinna asked.
“Della.”
“Della, nice. I’m Cinna. This is my husband, Dav. Who I will meet back at the house later,” she said, tone a bit pointed. She wanted me to get lost.
There was no way to be offended since we both understood that girls on the street might have more of an issue being around a strange man than the street boys did.
“Yep. See you there,” I said, pressing a kiss to her temple before moving in the opposite direction of them.
“I know I risk sounding fucking ancient saying this, but can you turn that racket down?” I asked as I moved into the house, hearing the thump of the base shaking my bones.
“Didn’t think you’d be home so soon,” Amaya, the only girl street kid we’d ever taken in, said as she flicked off the music.
She’d been a little older than Joel and Lip when we’d come across her. But she’d been on the street with her fifteen year-old brother as well. The now sixteen-year-old Darron was sprawled across the couch, his phone held aloft over his head, scrolling through some videos.
Amaya was tall with a lot more meat on her bones than she’d had when we’d first taken her in, always giving any food they got from passerby to her brother as she wasted away. Her dark skin wasn’t stretched over bones like a skeleton anymore, and her love of eating once she was free to do so as much and often as she wanted had morphed into a desire to open her own restaurant one day.
Which meant that, even though I’d just gotten in from dinner, I was about to try no fewer than five different dishes she had spread across the island.
“I think Cinna might be bringing someone back with her tonight,” I told her, watching as understanding crossed her face. “A girl,” I added.
“Oh, that would be nice,” Amaya said, glancing over at Darron. “There’s enough boys in this family already,” she declared.
“Listen, the next time you drop shit down the sink, figure out how to fish it out your—“ Joel cut off as he walked into the common area, holding the cross to Darron’s necklace in his hand, “Hey,” he said, nodding at me. “Why am I on plumber duty if you’re home?” he asked.
“I just got here,” I told him as there was a racket outside of the door before, suddenly, it opened and Lip came in with three bags hanging from his hands.
“Amaya, do you have any idea how hard it is to find caramel baking chips at this time of night?” he asked as he moved into the apartment.
“Since I can’t usually even find them at a decent hour, yes,” Amaya said, not apologetic at all. “But you were the one who wanted the cinnamon scones, weren’t you?”
“Fair enough,” Lip said, snagging something off one of the platters on the counter. “Weren’t you supposed to be on a date?” he asked, looking at me.
“Cinna got pickpocketed by some girl,” I told him.
“So, should I just go and make up the guest room bed now?” Joel asked.
The two older boys had moved out together a year before, wanting to, well, do shit they didn’t want their parental figures seeing.
It had been good timing, since Amaya and Darron had come into our paths just a few weeks later, needing rooms to call home.
Amaya was still explaining the importance of quality butter in baking twenty minutes later as the apartment door opened, and in walked Cinna with Della in tow, her shoulders hunched and her head on a swivel, like she was expecting some sort of ambush instead of a family gathering.
“Oh, everyone’s here,” Cinna said, closing the door behind Della. “Alright. Well, you met my husband, Dav. And these are our oldest boys, Lip and Joel,” she explained, each of the boys giving her a wave. “They don’t live here anymore, but the younger two run them ragged doing their errands for them,” she explained. “Amaya and Darron do live here. Guys, this is Della. She’s going to crash for… the night,” Cinna said, though we all knew it was never a night or weekend.
Once they came in, they didn’t leave until they were grown and ready.