Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“So?” I say hoarsely. “Did I ruin it for you?”
“Definitely,” she whispers. “It was so bad.”
“So bad.”
She giggles, her soft breath tickling my flesh. Silence falls over us. As we lie there in the dark, a sensation of pure serenity washes over me.
“I’m sleepy,” she murmurs.
“Then close your eyes.” I close mine too. Listening to the wind whistling beyond the cabin. Feeling the rocking of the hull on the calm water. The warmth of Cassie’s naked body against mine.
I can’t think of a better way to fall asleep.
CHAPTER 23
CASSIE
August
Only thirty minutes in to the twins’ birthday party, and I’m second-guessing my desire to have children. I thought two six-year-olds were loud. Fifteen of them? It’s one endless shriek that doesn’t let up. The kind of unceasing noise that worms its way into your soul.
Dad and Nia rented a bouncy castle that takes up nearly half the backyard and currently contains eight little girls who are jumping up and down screaming at the tops of their lungs. It sounds like they’re getting murdered in there, but I think they’re having fun? The remaining seven girls are seated around the crafts table, where one of the counselors from the twins’ day camp helps everyone construct their own sparkly tiaras. Dad hired the teenager for the afternoon, and she’s a big hit so far.
Speaking of Dad, this is the fourth time he’s hurried inside to “get something.” Took me a while, but I’m starting to think he’s not actually getting something, because he keeps returning empty-handed. On to him, I sneak away from the party and follow him inside. Sure enough, he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone.
“You’re not getting anything,” I accuse.
He looks up, eyes dancing behind his glasses. “Sure I am. I’m getting peace and quiet.”
I wander toward the other side of the counter and admire the girls’ birthday cake, courtesy of Nia’s bakery buddy Chandra, who ratted out Dad the day we were turtle browsing. Chandra and her daughter Sava are here today, the former chatting outside with Nia, the latter one of the kids getting murdered in the bouncy castle.
“Do you think the twins suspect?” I ask him. “About the turtle.”
“Not in the slightest,” he replies. “Last night Roxy was complaining again about having to wait till next year for a pet.”
“Is everything all set up? The tank? The water? The—what did that Joel kid call it? UV light?”
“UVB,” Dad corrects. “And it’s all done. Even decorated the little dude’s new digs with this waterlogged cypress tree decoration. It has all these branches he can perch on. I gotta admit, he’s cute.”
“Uh-huh. And what does Nia think about your new roommate?”
“She’s still not thrilled about it, but she’s just glad it’s not a dog. As far as pets go, this one is low maintenance if you ignore the fact that it lives for a thousand years.”
I snort.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Dad adds. “And I know I’ve already said it a bunch of times today, but happy birthday.”
He comes up to wrap his arms around me in a warm hug. It’s rare to receive any physical affection from my father, and I lean into his touch. I might not see him as often as I’d like, but when I do, I’m happy to be around him. It’s so much easier with him than Mom. With her it’s a minefield; I never know when I’ll set off the next verbal attack.
As if reading my mind, Dad releases me with a light, “How’s it been with your mom in town? You two getting along?”
“You know, the usual.” And then, also as per usual, I change the subject. “I wish I hadn’t wrapped the Kit ’n McKenna book already. I’m dying to show you how it turned out.” I hesitate, feeling myself blush. “And you’ll be happy to know I spoke to Robb about trying to publish it.”
Dad’s eyes light up. “You did? Excellent.”
“His boss at the design studio has some contacts in the agent world. Talent agents, literary, that kind of thing. He’s going to give Robb a few names of people who might want to rep us.” I shrug. “Who knows—maybe this is the career path I’ll end up on.” When Dad brightens again, I raise my hand in warning. “Don’t get your hopes up. Publishers might hate the concept.”
“They won’t,” he says confidently. “And I can’t wait to see it. I don’t know what the girls are going to love more—the turtle or your book.”
“The turtle, Dad.” I roll my eyes.
A couple hours later, after all the birthday cake has been devoured and all the horrible shrieking children are gone, the remaining five of us gather in the living room for the grand unveiling. We decided to wait until their friends were gone, because as Joel the Pothead Turtle Whisperer had warned, turtles are highly sensitive. We didn’t want to give the poor thing a heart attack when he swam out of his cypress tree and found fifteen screaming girls in his face.