Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 68576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I watched Atlas’s entire demeanor lock.
He dropped down to his haunches and said, “Hey, buddy. Yes, Daddy.”
He held out the Tic-Tacs and Atlas took them and handed him twelve.
“Hey!” I giggled at the two. “Those were mine.”
Atlas’s eyes met mine. “Listen, this is a momentous occasion. The kid deserves a hundred of those things.”
I shook my head and caught my purse up as Forest was busy eating all of my mints.
Looping the purse around my shoulder, I readjusted everything in my purse, taking the keys out, and handing them to Atlas.
He caught them in his hand, then pulled the glasses out of his pocket and slipped them on.
“Forgot about them,” he murmured quietly, sounding… at peace.
As if all he’d needed was to hear Forest acknowledging who he was to him.
“Ready?” I asked. “Because now that you mentioned breakfast, all of a sudden I really need it.”
His lips twitched, but he got up, bringing Forest with him, and said, “Let’s go.”
We wound up at a mom and pop diner that happened to be only minutes from his place.
“Have you been here before?” I wondered as we walked in.
“Three?” the woman behind the counter asked on the heels of my question.
“Yes, ma’am.” Atlas nodded.
“Yes, ma’am!” Forest crowed.
I had a permanent smile around this kid, I swear.
“There should be a booth back by the window that’ll fit your party.” The woman waved toward the left side.
Atlas threaded his big body through the tightly packed, occupied tables.
Atlas said a few hellos as he passed, and I smiled but didn’t open my mouth.
Every table was occupied by an old man. Sometimes in groups of two and three, and sometimes on their own.
Was it normal for old men to meet at diners for breakfast?
Atlas put Forest down into the booth and sat beside him. Meanwhile, I took the seat across from the pair and reached for the menus that were held vertical by a bottle of syrup, ketchup, and sugar.
“Coffee?” The same woman showed with a coffee mug in her hand.
“No,” Forest answered.
The woman’s lips twitched. “And what would you like, little man?”
Forest looked up at Atlas, as if he didn’t have a single clue.
“Milk?” Atlas asked. “Chocolate milk? Orange juice?”
“Choca milk!” he yelled.
Yelling seems to be his normal pitch, I thought with a grin.
“And you two?” The woman wiggled her coffee pot.
“I’ll have chocolate milk as well,” Atlas said.
“I’ll have coffee,” I said. “And a water, please.”
I didn’t necessarily need caffeine to function, but I did enjoy the odd cup or two when it was available.
“Make sure you bring her a gallon of creamer,” Atlas murmured. “She can’t have dark coffee.”
The waitress gave a thumbs up and left, leaving me with the two Carter boys sitting across from me.
Forest was busy playing with sugar packets. The elder Carter was staring at me with a weird look in his eye.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he shrugged. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
My cheeks pinked at his words, and to hide my embarrassment—and my elation—I said, “With you and your brothers having eye issues, I was thinking you should get Forest checked. Unless the eye issues didn’t show up until you were older?”
“Oh,” he frowned. “I actually have really bad eyesight, worse than everyone else’s.” He looked over at his son. “I had coke bottle glasses until I got laser corrective surgery when I was younger. Even still, I need glasses because some of my issues were along the nerves in my eyes.”
“Then I would highly suggest the appointment.” I paused. “Probably you should also establish a pediatrician as well. That way you can get him in and find out what, exactly, he’s up to date on.”
He pulled out his phone and started making notes in his notes app.
Seconds later he was on Google and searching up pediatricians in the area.
“I have a suggestion,” I said when he got hundreds of results and started to look overwhelmed. “Your siblings take their children to a pediatrician in town that frequents Pie Hard. Her name is Cindy something. I’d text Hollis, Shayne or Ellodie.”
He switched from Google to his texts and texted all three.
“What else?” he asked, switching back to the notes app.
I thought about it and came up empty.
“I hate to tell you this, but even though I appear competent, I’m not too experienced. I was the fun aunt and spent time with my nieces and nephews on short, fun outings. Or watched them at home. I was never really around when they were all sick, or for all the parent stuff. I worked too much,” I admitted.
His lips curled at one side into the sexiest smirk I’d ever seen. “Guess we’ll learn this together.”
A slew of texts came while the waitress was delivering our drinks and we were placing orders. All of the sisters-in-law telling Atlas—and apparently me since I was apparently in the group text—what we needed to do, who we needed to do it with, and why we needed to do it.