Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
I failed.
When I finally left campus to pick up the girls from their last day of summer day camp and take them to their activities, they were chatty enough to distract me all the way up until dinner, but when Grant walked in the door carrying a stack of pizza and a weary smile, I was reminded all over again just how bad I had it for my straight employer.
“I’m home,” he called, shutting the door to the garage with his foot.
I hurried over to take the pizza boxes out of his hands and set them on the kitchen table. “Good lord. Was Berlantis’ having a sale?” I asked, laughing. “There’s enough here for an army.”
“I know.” He blushed and ran a hand through his short brown hair before hanging his keys on the rack by the door next to mine. “But Jacey’s decided to be a vegetarian, and Cleo loves pepperoni. And you like pesto, but Mia won’t eat anything green, so I figured the easiest thing to do was to just get everyone their own.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt and looked at me earnestly. “Was that not right?”
If the man knew how fucking close he was to having five foot nine inches of sexually frustrated childcare specialist attack him in his own home, he would not be so damn endearing without even warning a person.
“That’s perfect,” I assured him. “You remembered exactly right, Dr. Brighton. Thank you.”
He nodded, clearly relieved, and I wanted so badly to kiss him I had to turn away and busy myself grabbing paper plates, napkins, and drinks for everyone.
This was the thing Fen got wrong in her armchair psychoanalysis—Grant wasn’t bad at emotions. On the contrary. The man had a heart bigger than California, a mind like a steel trap, and a desperate desire to do right by everyone. Sometimes he just didn’t seem to know how.
“You made good time,” I said, keeping my eyes on the table as I set out the paper products. “That must mean the accident I heard about on the radio wasn’t too bad.”
He sighed and dropped his messenger bag on the counter. “No. And Dr. Osei was early for his shift, if you can believe it.”
Mia came running into the kitchen and launched herself at her dad. “Daddy! My jazz class is having a recital at the end of summer. The song is ‘Starlight’ by Taylor Swift. You know that one about dancing? And guess what? I got a solo!”
Grant held her tight and squeezed his eyes closed in a way that did stupid shit to my heart. He truly did love his girls, even though his career demanded so much time away from them.
“That’s amazing, peanut. Miss Jennie must think you’re really talented.”
“Jeannie,” I corrected easily. “And Mia’s been practicing really hard.” I ruffled her hair.
Cleo came in and slumped in her chair at the table. “Are we going to eat? Because I’m starving, and Robbie stole my granola bar at lunch.”
Mia struggled to get down from Grant’s arms before calling Cleo on her lie. “Not true. You swapped with him for his crackers.”
The girls squabbled for a moment for a moment about whether crackers even counted as a snack while Grant watched the back-and-forth with the bewildered intensity of a chair umpire at Wimbledon. I turned away to call Jacey before my heart-eyes plopped out on the table.
Grant stepped behind me and lowered his voice. “You didn’t tell them about Mountbatten?”
His warm breath hit the tender skin behind my ear, bringing up goose bumps all along my skin. I tried not to shiver. “Uh, no. Um… you said we… I mean, you would tell them.”
He leaned over me to grab a piece of pesto pizza out of the box. “Thank you.”
We moved to the table and settled in. Jacey took her seat next to Grant and eyed him with fourteen-year-old intensity. “Kinley said she saw you at Mountbatten today.”
He nodded, fighting a smile. “Yup. I was there.”
She huffed. “Did you… I mean… is there any, um, news?”
Grant tapped his chin. “News… hmm. What kind of news would I have gotten at Mountbatten? Perhaps I learned the Pythagorean theorem? Wait, that’s not news. Pythagoras lived in 540 BC.” He caught my eye across the table and winked, causing me to nearly aspirate my pizza.
“Dad,” Jacey said, rolling her eyes. “Oh my god, your dad humor is soooo not funny. I’ll literally die if we don’t get in. Brody, please! Can’t you make him tell us if—”
Grant smirked. “You’re in.”
The girls squealed with excitement, jumping up to hug him and thanking him profusely before turning to give me the same treatment.
“Hey, whoa. Don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything,” I protested, returning their hugs.
“Not true,” Grant said. “You filled out all the paperwork, you got the references, and you made sure I showed up on time.”