Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I stared at my phone, groaning. Clarice was way too cheerful this early in the morning. She once told me she trained herself to wake up at five am to put on her face back when she worked for the city’s transportation department.
She’d rocked corporate attire for a long time, learning to make custom skirt suits that would fit her tall and narrow figure. She always said she channeled her inner Jane Fonda, Lilly Tomlin, and Dolly Parton in those days with cute little blouses that tied at the neck to hide anything that might make people curious. But working at the church part-time gave her the freedom she needed to dress the way she liked, which was a lot more flamboyantly.
And because she couldn’t seem to help herself, she liked to dress me up, too.
Today, the outfit she’d selected was a pair of my old high school jeans, cut off and frayed by her own hand, to a length that was borderline too short for me. Thank goodness the bottom of my ass cheeks did not hang out, though two inches and they would have. I would have had to draw the line at that. The top was a vintage Western shirt she’d found and bought for me because it was too small for her. It was blue and white stripes with tiny cherries all over it, which she insisted I tie at the waist.
She said it looked like an outfit one of the original Charlie’s Angels would have worn on an undercover assignment at a dude ranch, which seemed extremely specific to me!
I rolled my eyes, remembering how Clarice had enjoyed a good laugh about those cherries no longer being appropriate for me when she came by to pick out my look.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
I sighed and pulled on my plain white kicks bought from the discount store. No force on earth would get me to wear the white cowboy boots she’d also thrifted in my size. Well, not with short shorts, anyway.
I was not Jessica Simpson as Daisy Duke!
Preacher might get a kick out of those boots, though.
I sighed and tugged them on, looking in the mirror. I had one sneaker on and one cowboy bootie. The boots were actually really cute, I decided. The ankle length kept them from being too over-the-top. But definitely not practical if the day got hot, which it probably would. Plus, I’d be on my feet from sunup to sundown.
Sneakers it was.
Maybe the booties will look cute with one of the sundresses I thrifted with Clarice a couple of weeks ago, I mused. Nothing fancy, but cotton stuff lasted forever, and if it wasn’t stained, you could usually spiff it up. I could wear the boots out on a date.
An hour ago, I was imagining kicking him repeatedly in the shins. Now I was thinking of cute outfits to wear on my limited budget. Clearly, I was a pushover. A sap. I was whipped.
I was already on the road to forgiving Preacher, I realized with a sigh. I was more than halfway down it, truth be told. It really was just a mix-up. We’d both made assumptions about the other in the heat of the moment. We were both at fault.
And the way he’d lit up when he realized I might be pregnant . . . well, that made up for a lot. He had been a little bit smug, with his chest puffed out like a peacock. But his excitement was genuine.
After I’d calmed down, I had seen it clearly. The man was stoked. He wanted to make babies with me.
Lots of them, apparently.
I needed to stay strong, though. I had to be sure he’d be a good partner. And the timing wasn’t perfect for me. Maybe if I was done with school . . .
But somehow, the thought of a baby had changed my thinking. I cupped my belly, knowing I was being ridiculous and not caring. It was far too early to know or even be officially pregnant. My maternal instincts were already kicking in, though.
Having someone to take care of and love . . . well, that suddenly sounded amazing. Being a mother seemed beyond perfect, regardless of timing. I could always go back to school or try and finish before I gave birth . . .
I swiped on some lipgloss and pushed my hair into a ponytail. I looked tired, I decided, adding a few dabs of blush to my cheeks. But it was no wonder. I’d been tossing and turning over the fight with Preacher for days. I’d given everything to him and was just getting used to that. Everything about him was way more than I’d bargained for, not that I’d really been thinking clearly at the time.
And five AM was way too early to be out and about, especially when I’d passed out well after midnight!