Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
He looked happy about that. “Okay.”
“But maybe we should move over to the kitchen table for that.” She carefully rose to her feet.
“You can do it here,” I said, gesturing to the coffee table between the couches.
Maddie thought for a second. “Elliott, go get some paper towels. I don’t want to get polish on the table.”
He went into the kitchen and returned a moment later, and together they spread out some paper towels. Maddie sat near my feet, her back leaning against my right leg, her hands flat on the table. Elliott knelt next to her and painted the nails on both hands. It took him a while—my dad was snoring by the time he was finished.
“Good job, bud,” Maddie said softly. She held up both hands so I could see her nails. “Look, Beckett. Didn’t he do a nice job?”
Actually, it was pretty messy, but I smiled. “Better than I could do, that’s for sure.”
Elliott beamed. “I could do yours too, if you want.”
Maddie chuckled. “That’s sweet of you to offer, Elliott, but I don’t think Beckett wants his nails painted.”
“Well, hold on,” I said, hating to disappoint him. Of course I didn’t want my nails painted pink by a six-year-old. But I could take it off, right?
Maddie looked at me over her shoulder. “You don’t have to. Elliott knows most men don’t paint their nails.”
“My dad says it’s only for girls,” Elliott said with a forlorn expression. “And he gets mad when I paint mine. But I’ve seen some boys with it before.”
I made up my mind. “You can paint mine.”
Maddie flashed me a grateful smile. “I think it takes a really strong man to feel confident enough to let his nails be painted pink.”
“I agree,” I said, moving to the edge of the couch and flattening my hand on a paper towel. Maddie scooted over so she was sitting between my feet. “Although I have to say I have never had my nails painted before.”
Elliott knelt down again and took the brush from the bottle. “This will be easier. Your fingers are fatter than my mom’s.”
I gave him a menacing stare. “I’m gonna get you back for that next time we have batting practice.”
Elliott giggled and got to work. Between my legs, Maddie glanced up at me and mouthed thank you, placing a hand over her heart.
I wanted to take that hand and put it over my heart, so she could feel what she did to me, so that each quick, hard beat could tell her what I couldn’t with words.
That I needed her.
That I wanted her in my life.
That I should have made her mine when I’d had the chance.
That I wanted her clothes next to mine in the closet, her toothbrush in the cup by the sink, and Elliott’s pink boots in the mudroom alongside my brown ones.
That I wanted to share things with her I’d never shared with anyone—not just my bed or my body or my house, but my fears and my dreams and maybe even my name.
A family. We could be a family.
When Elliott was done, he sat back on his heels. “What do you think?”
I held up my hand—it looked fucking ridiculous. “I love it,” I told him.
“Can I do the other one?” he asked gleefully.
“Sure.” I put the second hand down.
Maddie hooked a hand around my leg on the opposite side of Elliott and rubbed gently, tipping her head onto my knee for just a second, letting me know what it meant to her.
My heart answered back.
After my dad and Elliott were in bed, Maddie sat next to me on the couch. “Here. Give me your hand so I can take off the pink.”
“Will Elliott be upset?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “He will be fine, especially since I painted his nails. It was very sweet of you to let him do this in the first place.”
“I didn’t mind.”
She met my eyes. “I know. That’s what gets me.”
I laughed. “Gets you where?”
Her eyebrows rose as she focused on my fingers again. “You name it. You get to me pretty much everywhere.”
“Same here.”
She laughed, rubbing hard at the stubborn color on my thumbnail. “Spoken like a true man of few words.”
“Sorry.” I fumbled for something better. “I’m not good at this.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine. “At what?”
“At—you know—saying what needs to be said.”
She nodded, moving onto the next fingernail. “What about just saying what you feel?”
“That’s even harder for me.” My heart was pounding. Beneath my shirt, I was hot and sweaty. “But actually, there is something I want to say.”
“There is?”
“Yes.” I took a breath. “An offer I want to make. Or maybe it’s a suggestion.”
Maddie glanced up at me, laughing gently. “I’m listening.”
I swallowed. My throat was dry. The room was spinning. “I was thinking, you know, about—about the caretaker job. For my dad.”