Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“What’s up with Mommy?” As if I didn’t already know.
“The ’partment fell froo,” Lu whisper-hisses in my ear, almost making me chortle. “Are you tick-lish?” The kid's tone makes it sound like she’s discovered some gem.
“I am not ticklish.” But I might have sensitive ears. Kind of. Okay, so I like having my ears nibbled on in certain circumstances, but it’s circumstances far removed from these. My eyes track Fee’s movement up ahead, my mind wandering to her choice of hosiery. Hose or stockings?
She’s practical-minded, but what I’ve seen of her lingerie choices is encouraging.
We reach the kitchen, and I settle Lu on one of the high stools. She grabs her iPad, her attention absorbed almost immediately.
“Aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing here?” I drop my jacket to another stool and move around the end of the island to lean against it. Crossing one ankle over the other, I casually fold my arms. Fee doesn’t take the pectoral/bicep bait. Instead, I pull the already open newspaper closer.
“I said it was okay for you to visit.” Without looking up, she begins to flick through the pages, albeit a little violently.
“I’d hate to see how you treat the guests you weren’t expecting.”
“It was homework bribery, remember?” At this, she looks up, her eyes skimming over me briefly. “Sorry. Ignore me. I’m just a little distracted.”
“I can see that.”
“Well, I’d tell you to make yourself home, except you already are.” She looks as though she might cry as her attention returns to the newspaper.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” She shakes her head but doesn’t look up. This won’t do. “Lulu said something about the apartment. Is there a problem?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Her words are as dissonant as untuned piano keys.
“Don’t look at that one.” I nod, gesturing at the newspaper, which is open to the classifieds, several listings circled by in blue ink.
“Which?” she asks, looking up.
“The one at the top of the page. That’s not a good area to live.”
“No?” She glances down and back again, apparently satisfied with my earnest expression. Which makes me feel bad. A little bad. Maybe a thimble full. In truth, I can’t even see the listing she has circled from here. She might be interested in a timeshare in Acapulco or a date with destiny via the personal ads—over my dead body—but I know what she’s looking at by virtue of being the one to fuck up her (as was) imminent lease.
“Maybe you should search for a realtor on the internet. I could probably recommend someone.”
Her expression twists. “No thanks.” No need to ask where she thought I’d know a realtor, judging by her haughty tone.
My chest huffs with a small chuckle. “I have a realtor who works on my behalf.”
“I doubt we’re looking in the same price brackets.”
“You know you can stay here, right? Until you find something.”
“And where will you go?” She glances up, un-fucking-amused. “One of the spare bedrooms? Or do you still have a room reserved at the Y?”
“A suite. Amazing bunkbeds. Seriously, though. I have places to be. You can stay here.”
“And when you’re not doing God knows what, God knows where?” Her lemon-sucking expression stops her from adding with God knows who.
Who? Why, you!
“Can I go and watch Disney?” Lulu asks suddenly.
“No. It’s nearly time for bed.”
“But I don’t want to,” she complains loudly.
“Inside voice,” comes her mother’s directive.
“It’s not fair. Uncle Car is here!”
As Lu whines the four-year-old litany of the unjust, it seems as though Fee’s resolve is weakening. Before she changes her mind, I lean closer and murmur, “You’re sure you can trust me to be alone in the same room as you?”
“I think I can handle it. Handle you,” she adds quickly, swiping the paper away.
“I’m a big boy. You know I take a lot of handling.”
Rising to my provocation, she turns her attention to Lulu. “Off you go and brush your teeth. Now.”
The phrase “brook no opposition” springs to mind. I do love a woman who can take charge.
Wonders upon wonders, Lulu slips from her seat, muttering her unhappy adieus as she reaches the kitchen door, along with the muttered proclamation of, “I’m not happy about this.”
“Your displeasure is duly noted,” answers her mom.
“Julie what?” Her button nose scrunches in confusion.
“Honestly, I think I should book her a hearing test.” The words fall in an exasperated rush before she adds, “If you want to take part in the school camp out, you need to go to bed without any fuss.”
“Fine,” she mutters, swinging on her heel.
“Er, have you forgotten something?”
“Good. Night. Uncle. Carson.” The kid’s leave-taking is delivered bullet-style.
“See you later, alligator.”
Her brow creases with consternation the moment before she turns. “Night . . . snake.”
I hope that wasn’t a reflection of my personality.
Fee follows her out, and I make my way into the dining, pulling open the drink’s cabinet. I pour a couple of fingers of scotch into a couple of glasses, then carry them back to the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the high stools. Pulling my phone from the back pocket of my pants, I set it facedown, turning the newspaper to face me.