Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Okay!” I repeat. As excited as I am for a girls’ day out with Cole’s family, I’m a little nervous about tonight. We’re all convening at the Harrington house for a mandatory family dinner. But first things first . . . pedicures!
Cole would usually open the car door for me, but the girls have already rearranged themselves inside, leaving the door open for me. When I climb into the back seat, they all whoop and holler. “Damn, girl! Getcha sum!” Samantha says.
“Go on and kiss da girl!” Luna sings in a baritone voice, sounding like Sebastian, the crab from The Little Mermaid. I found out at the wedding that she’s a total Disney movie addict and likes to sing the songs randomly.
Gracie leans over to her, adding in the harmony, “Sha-la-la-la-la, don’t be scared!” The two of them dissolve into giggles, and I’m so happy she’s coming with us today.
I blush, but it’s more about the attention from them than the kiss from Cole.
“Welcome to the Mom-mobile,” Miranda says, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror with a friendly smile. “Your house is lovely.”
“Thank you,” I reply, knowing my small ranch house is nothing compared to the Harrington estate. But it’s home, and I’m proud of it. I glance out the window as she pulls out of the drive and see Cole still standing in the doorway. I wave goodbye one more time and squirm around in my seat to face forward.
“Looks like Cole’s a fan too,” Miranda quips, honking her horn once more as we zoom off.
At the salon, Miranda checks us in, happily telling the receptionist, “Mani-pedis for all my girls.”
Being included in the Harrington girls’ trip alone is awesome enough, but being grouped in with everyone like that is a whole different level of awesomeness that makes my heart skip a beat. I can’t hide the giddy smile on my face. But . . .
“Oh, I’d love to do the pedicure, but I can’t have nail polish at work,” I say, showing her my short, naked nails that are a requirement at The Ivy.
“No problem, you can leave your nails bare if you want, but enjoy the pampering part.” She smiles warmly, and I agree, mostly because I don’t want to be the odd woman out because even Gracie is picking out a color from the wall.
“Should I do purple or red?” Gracie asks, holding up two bottles.
Kayla looks over and suggests, “Both? Add a magenta too.” She helps her niece find a third color to add to the mix, and then they start discussing which fingers should be which color.
“Ready!” Gracie shouts in excitement when she’s got it figured out.
Everyone else chooses their color, and we follow the receptionist to a lineup of massage chairs. Somehow, I end up in the middle, with Samantha and Luna on my left and Miranda, Gracie, and Kayla on my right. It’s almost a six-part harmony sigh of comfort as we slip our feet into the bubbling, hot water, and the receptionist pushes buttons on each remote, starting the back massage feature.
Things get busy for a moment as our nail technicians swarm and we all explain what we want on our fingers and toes. Once everyone’s treatments are underway, Miranda says, “Thanks for coming with me today. I love getting to hang out with you all.”
We share our appreciation too, and then she asks, “So, what’re my boys up to today?”
Luna starts, “Carter’s looking at a property with Zack—” She stops and leans forward to look at me. “That’s my brother, the one I told you about who does real estate.” I nod, appreciating the Spark Notes, and she continues, “And knowing the two of them, they’ll probably end up finding three other properties along the way and at least two investment opportunities.” She laughs, sounding like that’s a perfectly normal Saturday.
Gracie jumps in with her own report. “Daddy’s working, of course. He’s a work-ma-holic. I tried telling him that he should do something fun for a change, but he said work is fun.” I don’t have to see her to hear the heavy eye roll and know exactly what she thinks of her dad’s work habits. “But he said we could make pancakes tomorrow morning if I slept in! I tried negotiating for birthday sprinkle ones and six o’clock, but he said those are for special occasions only and six is still the middle of the night. He agreed to chocolate chips and eight o’clock, though, so I’m putting that one in the win column.”
I don’t know how she can sound so young and so old all at the same time, but she does, somehow fitting right in like one of the girls.
“Next time, try calling them funfetti pancakes,” Miranda suggests. “That’s what your dad used to eat when he was about your age.”