Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Sounds fancy. Does she braid her own hair?”
“Probably. But when we were kids, she made me learn how to do hers. And I have no regrets.”
“I taught my daddy how to braid my hair. He can do French braids and reverse French braids,” Mac says, then grabs another piece. “Why are you so fast at puzzles?”
“Because I have a good attention span for things I really like,” he says easily, and I smile to myself. I know the full scope of his issues but appreciate the simplicity of his answer.
“Cool,” she says, seeming satisfied too.
As they work on the puzzle, I fill the final ramekin, then wipe a hand on my mustache apron. After I set the ramekins in the oven, Carter’s phone beeps again on the table. He flips it over and then offers a quick explanation to Mac. “It’s a reminder of my schedule. Dinner with my agent tomorrow.”
“What was your other one for?”
“I set a reminder to send Shelby an email later. I haven’t emailed her in a while,” he says.
“You set a lot of alerts,” Mac says matter-of-factly as I clean up the counter.
“I do. Otherwise, I forget.”
“My friend Charles is like that too. He has a watch that reminds him of things. It’s kind of cool. The watch.” And I bet I know why Charles has a smartwatch. I bet, too, that this curious kid will keep asking Carter questions.
“Why do you forget?” Mac asks.
Yup. Called it. But I feel certain Carter won’t mind answering. Because of how she’s asking. From a place of honesty, not judgment.
“I have ADHD,” he says, equally matter-of-factly.
“Charles has that. His teacher didn’t think it was real,” she says, then frowns. “Which made no sense to me.”
Carter frowns too. “I’m not surprised though. A lot of people don’t think it’s real.”
“Why?”
He shrugs as he slides in another piece. “Don’t know. I guess because some people think it’s a convenient excuse. When I was younger, I had a football coach who didn’t think it was a thing.”
I stop cleaning the counter mid-swipe of chocolate. That’s new to me. He never told me that before.
“Did you have to prove it was real?” Mac asks, clearly a little perturbed by this development.
“At first I tried to, especially with teachers and coaches who didn’t get it. But then I learned it’s not my job to prove it’s real. The only thing I can do is live with it. There are always going to be people who say to me just pay better attention, or how could you forget that. But then you learn those aren’t the people you want to be friends with.” He takes a beat before adding, “Or date.”
Did Quinn not believe him?
Mac seems to consider his answer for several seconds. “ADHD is real. It’s not the tooth fairy.”
“It sure isn’t,” he says, then snaps in another piece.
She slots in one more. “You’re better at this than golf.”
“Hey, now,” he chides.
“You can’t be good at everything,” she says. “You’re already good at football. Daddy said you’re the best receiver he’s ever had.”
My spine straightens. Carter sits taller too. His smile is radiant.
I feel like I’m glowing from this secret nugget the owner’s daughter has dropped.
“Yeah, I heard him say it to a friend,” Mac continues, then imitates her dad. “I never thought we’d find someone as good as Harlan Taylor,” she says, naming the hall-of-fame receiver who retired a few years ago. “But I’ve got Carter Hendrix now, and I’ve never been so glad to be wrong.”
My best friend fights off a well-earned grin. There’s still pleased pride curving his lips when I join them a few minutes later with molten cakes and ice cream.
This Saturday is officially the most fun I’ve had in ages—maybe because I’ve seen all these new sides of Carter.
Maybe, too, because all his facets make me melt like this cake.
33
EYES ON ME
Rachel
He has to stop.
Seriously. My heart can’t handle the sweetness.
Carter and I are braiding Mac’s hair, and I am officially, one hundred percent dead from flutters.
The only thing keeping me alive is, well, the competition.
Mac challenged us. She said she wanted to see who could braid better. So we’re giving her twin French braids. I’m right next to Carter on the couch as he weaves strands on the right side of Mac’s head, and I do the left.
I try to concentrate on my mission—finishing this awesome braid. But I’m stealing glances at the man by my side, twisting and weaving blonde strands with those big hands, and that intense concentration in his brown eyes, and all I can think is Why is it so damn swoony when a man does a kid’s hair?
You know why. You know what you want.
I lose my grip on a small chunk of Mac’s hair.
Focus, Rachel.
I grab the fallen strands, then quickly finish the braid, tying it off. “There,” I declare. “It’s been a while since I’ve French braided, but check it out,” I say, proud of my work.