Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
I should honestly be jumping at marrying him, but something is holding me back. I know exactly what it is, but it feels selfish of me to admit it. I need to let go of the past. Of him. I remind myself of that every day. Yet I still hold out hope that someday our paths will cross.
That he had a change of heart. That he made a mistake. God, I’m pathetic. I saw the papers that had been sent to the center. He was handing over his rights to our baby. So that I could give him up for adoption, but that hadn’t been what I’d done.
Those papers had been a smack in the face. I didn’t expect papers to show up. I thought he’d find me, but nothing. For years, I held out hope that he’d come, but he never did. He was never who I thought he was.
“Promise me that you’ll really think about it.”
“I promise.”
Sebastian isn’t the love of my life, but he’s never let me down. He’s safe, and I know how scary it is to not have that. Not only for me but my son too.
At least I know with him I can’t get my heart broken again.
CHAPTER 3
COOPER
“Mr. Donovan. I’m Hanna, your son’s homeroom teacher.” A woman who looks hardly older than Dunc approaches with her hand held out.
I know I’m supposed to shake it, but it feels wrong somehow. I doff my cap and then hold my hands up. “I’ve been roofing all day and only scrubbed the topmost layer of grime off. You probably want to keep at least a desk or five between us.” I look around. “Which one is Dunc’s desk?”
She points to one in the back corner next to the window. Dunc’s a better student than me. If I had sat in that chair, I would have been daydreaming about escaping every minute instead of excelling in school. I wander over and take a seat. The desk is low, and my legs barely fit underneath. Dunc must be cramped as hell. I swing toward the wall and stretch my legs out, understanding why he chose this spot. It’s not for the scenery but for the extra space.
After collecting a few papers on her desk at the front of the room, Ms. Cotton waltzes toward me and pulls up a chair right next to mine. She’s so close I can smell the roses of her perfume. It kind of irritates my nose. I press a knuckle against one nostril to suppress a sneeze.
She lays the papers on the small desktop, her fingers brushing mine. She leans forward far enough that I swear I could feel the swell of her tits against my arm. “Duncan is a bright student, and I think he should take AP Calc. If he passes the examination, he’d be entitled to college credit. I’ve suggested this to Duncan, but he didn’t seem interested. Do you know why that is?”
What had Dunc said? That Ms. Cotton wanted in my pants? I don’t have a lot of experience with women, so I don’t want to read anything into this, but maybe he’s right. Do I scoot my chair away? Do I stand up? I clear my throat. “Well, I suspect it’s because he’s been planning on joining the construction firm after school and doesn’t see a lot of need for, ah, AP Calc.” Whatever that is.
“But he’s not certain what he’ll be doing. Perhaps he’d like to venture into architecture.”
Those assholes? I hope not. Architects dream up wild things without paying even a dot of attention to practicalities. They sell those dreams to clients and then those clients get mad as hell when I tell them that the design has more flaws than the Hoover Dam.
“Sure, if that’s what he wants.”
“So you’ll talk to him about this or if you don’t feel comfortable talking to him, I could come over to your house. I make a mean lasagna.” She tilts her head and brushes her hair over her shoulder.
I watched an animal documentary on the Discovery Channel once, and it said that when birds play with their feathers, they’re trying to attract attention. Probably time to bring this chat to a close. I scoop up the papers and get to my feet. The little desk starts to tip over, and I lurch forward to catch it. At the same time, Ms. Cotton is reaching for the desk. I end up with both the desk and a handful of Ms. Cotton. I drop them both and step back. The metal legs make a clattering noise against the linoleum. Ms. Cotton’s cheeks are red, and her shirt is mussed.
There’s a cough behind us. I turn to see a pretty girl standing in the doorway. Her hand is over her eyes.