Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
A gulping tween sob from inside the apartment propelled Tallulah forward, her sympathy making the decision for her. Propping the groceries on one hip, she rapped hard on the door three times. Silence greeted her from the other side.
Footsteps.
A scowling Burgess opened the door holding a phone to his ear, feet bare, hair wet, dressed in black sweatpants and a white T-shirt with the Bearcats logo emblazoned across the front. “I wasn’t going to be wearing this when you got here. But shit happened.”
“I can hear the shit from the hallway.”
He closed his eyes briefly, before settling them on the brown paper bag she held. “What’s in there?”
“Ingredients for Saksuka and some lemon chicken.”
The intensity of his scowl lessened dramatically. “You’re going to make that? For us?”
“Yes.”
“Please, for the love of God, come in.”
He stepped aside and Tallulah entered, trying very hard not to notice what the freshly showered professional athlete smelled like. But she failed. The answer was . . . delicious. Like he’d still been sweating when he got into the shower and hadn’t quite stopped by the end of it. The result was a drugging combination of menthol and musk that brought about a flip in her belly.
Thankfully—or not—Tallulah was instantly distracted by the girl sitting on the couch with the tear-streaked face. “Hey.” Tallulah crossed the room and set down the groceries on the coffee table. “Rough day?”
Lissa crossed her arms over her stomach and nodded miserably.
Tallulah nodded. “I can’t help but notice you took out the French braid.”
“None of them had braids today. I looked pathetic.”
Sympathy crowded in her throat. “I disagree that you looked pathetic. That’s impossible. But why don’t we worry about what’s happening right now. What’s the problem?”
Lissa erupted. “Dad is calling the school to tell them I’m being bullied, but I’m not. Not really. It’s . . . I don’t know. It’s more complicated than that.”
“They’re bullying you without bullying you.”
“Yes!” She flung an arm out at her father, who was now pacing back and forth in the open kitchen fifteen yards away. “He’s going to get them in trouble for nothing and it’s going to be way worse tomorrow.”
Tallulah shared a private wince with Lissa. “Let’s see if I can distract him.”
The girl swiped at her wet cheeks, looking hopeful. With a deep breath, Tallulah picked up the bag of ingredients again and made her way to the kitchen, setting it down on the counter. “Hey.” She took out the onion, pepper, garlic, and potato, setting them on the cutting board adjacent to the sink. “Can you chop these up for me, starting with the onion?”
“Me?” Burgess asked, stabbing a giant finger between his pecs.
“Yes.”
“I only have one hand right now.”
“Then maybe you should hang up?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Translation: you should definitely hang up.”
His brows slashed together like twin swooping black kites and her heart started to pump. She’d just come into this man’s kitchen and told him what to do. How would he react?
A bony object got stuck in her throat while she waited, her fingernails digging into the palm of her right hand. His attention fell to her fist and that frown only deepened.
Finally, his gaze climbed back up to meets hers. “She came home crying,” he said, his voice calm. Even. “I’m supposed to just let that go?”
Tallulah could feel the girl’s hopes resting on her shoulders, all the way from the living room, so she held her ground, despite the trepidation. “I think you should, for now, yes.” She lowered her voice and turned her back to the rest of the apartment. “I understand the knee-jerk reaction to solve things for your child. I think that’s normal and healthy. If there was outright bullying involved or she was being threatened, adults would need to step in. But this sounds like typical girl politics to me. She’s twelve and she has to solve this problem for herself.”
“I don’t like it when she cries,” he said, enunciating every word.
“That’s normal and healthy, too.”
He grunted. “So you want me to hang up and chop an onion.”
“Yup. Your turn to cry, Sir Savage.”
Burgess ended the call with a surly grimace and shoved the device into the pocket of his sweatpants. Frankly, he looked disgusted. Yet he took the knife out of the block, examined the onion a moment, and started chopping, a sharp muscle popping in his cheek. And Tallulah slowly let out the reserve of breath she’d been holding, shaking out the hand that now displayed a quartet of half-moon indentations from her nails. When she felt eyes on her, she noticed Burgess watching her over his shoulder and forced herself into motion.
While removing the package of chicken from the bag, she winked at Lissa over the breakfast bar and the girl slumped backward onto the couch like a puppet who’d had its strings cut. Tallulah found a sauté pan in one of the lower cabinets, olive oil in another, and got to work cutting the chicken into pieces. She had been working in silence for a few minutes when Lissa appeared at the entrance of the kitchen.