Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Tony dropped me by the front door, and I fiddled with the alarm to get inside. The house is huge. It’s this sprawling seaside Hamptons mansion, way too big for just two people, but Emma would fill it up with grandkids in no time. I’d just hung up my coat when I heard Neil’s sophisticated English accent.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but do I know you?” He walked toward me from the windowed hall that led to the kitchen. Smiling, he held out his arms when I launched myself at him at a dead run.
Neil was… There was no way other way to put it. He was just Neil. Without the stress of running a company full-time, he was happier and healthier than he’d ever been since we’d gotten together—evidenced by my “oof” of pain as I collided with his chest. When he’d still been recovering from his stem cell transplant the year before, I’d gotten used to a slightly chubby fiancé. Post-cancer, he had this new-lease-on-life, constantly-working-out thing going on, and he wasn’t as squishy as before.
Not that I was complaining. Yeah, he was going through a midlife crisis, but I couldn’t blame him. He was only months away from becoming a grandfather, and while he was uncontrollably excited at the prospect—he’d already converted a room in our house into a nursery, “just in case we should ever need it,”—nobody was entirely okay with aging. Heck, even I was beginning to see the specter of old age looming, what with Emma and Michael’s constant “granny” jokes. They found it beyond amusing that I would be a step-grandmother at twenty-six.
I buried my face in Neil’s sweater and breathed in the smell of his cologne. “I am so glad to be home.”
His lips moved against the top of my head as he said, his voice full of raw, tender emotion, “I missed you so much.”
Then I realized that the hand on my ass was slowly bunching my skirt up. He was talking to my butt.
I gave him a playful shove. “Perv.”
“Excuse me, but I am a deeply romantic, poetic soul.” He pretended to be wounded then grinned. “Who also happens to adore your ass.”
“Romantic,” I scoffed. “Pervmantic.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Come on, I’m making dinner.”
“Dinner?” I asked, walking ahead of him with a sexy sway to my hips. “I thought you said that when I got home, you’d be eating—”
My words stuttered short when we stepped through the swinging door and I saw Emma and Michael sitting at the island. I switched tracks to avert disaster and raised an irritated eyebrow at Neil. “Vegan. Because Emma is here. Hello, Emma.”
She gave me that look she always gave me when she knew something was up, but she didn’t want any details. “Hi, Sophie.”
“Hey, Sophie,” Michael said, standing to give me a hug. Michael came from a super WASPy family who defied stereotypes by being the huggingest damn people I’d ever met. And I’m from the Midwest.
I gave him a squeeze then went to Emma, motioning for her stay seated. I hugged her briefly and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Swollen,” she complained, her hand falling to her round tummy. Of course, Emma would be one of those women who carried her baby perfectly, like a little basketball in front. I was jealous, and I was never even going to have kids. But everything Emma did was adorable. Waifish, with blond hair in a chin-length bob that perfectly suited her and big green eyes that could stare down a hardened assassin, she was the perfect combination of sweet and intimidating.
Neil and I had placed bets on which features the baby would have. Neil had his money on Emma’s blond hair, but Michael’s height, while I was rooting for another brunette short person to join the family so I wouldn’t be alone anymore.
“Oh! Here’s your chance, Dad!” Emma said, flapping her hands excitedly. “She’s moving!”
Neil dropped the spoon he’d been using into the pot of marinara simmering on the stove, and I leapt behind the island to rescue it. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and hurried over to place them on Emma’s stomach.
Then, at the same time, both he and I raised our heads and said, “She?”
Michael laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, so much for keeping it a secret.”
“A little girl?” Neil exclaimed, looking to Emma for confirmation. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have done the nursery in pink.”
“We don’t know if it’s a little girl yet,” Michael reminded him. “We know it has a vagina.”
“Exactly. They might name the baby Olivia, and then, we find out when he’s like three that he’s really Oliver.” I fished the spoon from the pot, keeping myself at arm’s length from the occasionally popping red sauce to protect my Cordovan lace Dolce & Gabbana sheath dress.