Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Walking out of her room, I stop at the doorway and glance over my shoulder at Paige as she jerks her blankets free from a plastic bag. “What do you think of the place?” I ask as I turn to face her. She plops the comforter on her lap and looks around the room with curious eyes.
“I mean, it’s a lot bigger than our last place.” She’s right about that: the kitchen and living room alone are bigger than the spread we had before. The kitchen was so close you could cook while watch TV on the couch. Ok, not really, but it was small.
“Even with all our stuff, it feels empty.” Looking up at me her brows raise with awed energy from the fact she’s never been in a place this nice or big. This house is big enough to actually to do something with, and I have zero experience with decorating. Even when I had a home with Cam, my skills were a perfect example of Pinterest epic fails from one room to the next.
“You still mad at me for making us move out here?” I chew on the inside of my cheek, waiting for her to reply.
Huffing, she opens the bag wider and finds it empty. Shoving it to the side, she stares at it in thought.
“I don’t know, just so much is happening. Grandma, the wreck, moving. The thought of being the new kid at school is just too much to think about right now.” There’s a lot of weight hanging in her words. She’s been through a lot lately, but Paige is stronger than she thinks. She underestimates how much she can handle. She’ll fit in here just as well as she did at her old school.
“Give it some time. You’ll make new friends.”
Her eyes rise, narrowing at me in irritation. I get it; she doesn’t want to make new friends. But if I’m trying, she can too.
“I’m hoping to finish unpacking at least one room tonight. Holler if you need me.” I tap my nails on the doorframe and turn to walk away when she says, “Um…can we order pizza?” She doesn’t look up from digging in a box, a stray hair that escaped her braid falling into her face.
“I swear, you’re going to turn into pizza as much as you eat it, child.” When I ate pizza at her age, my face would break out so bad, but her skin is always clear, and I don’t think she’d care if it did cause acne.
Not used to stairs, I hold onto the banister. Bickering male voices make me stop at the second to last step. Shadows move about on the other side of the blurred glass.
Grabbing the knob, I open the door to two men. They both jerk forward, plastering smiles on their faces.
“Hi!” they say in unison.
My eyes fall to the plant in the guy on the left’s arms, then to the bottle of red wine in the other man’s hand.
“We’re your neighbors.” The man holding the wine points to a house behind him. The one with the blue door.
“I’m Flynn, and this is my partner, Owen,” he introduces them both. Owen is shorter and a bit leaner than Flynn. His blond hair is really thin like candy floss , and freckles dust his nose. His white shirt is tucked into navy-blue Chinos, both without a wrinkle.
“This is for you. I can’t imagine the hell moving brings these days.” Flynn sighs, as if the thought pains him. Pursing his lips, he presents me with a dark bottle of wine. His toned arms flex as I take it, showing just how fit he is compared to Owen.
“And I said not everyone’s an alcoholic, so I brought a plant to—” he peeks into my living room, my mother’s eccentric blanket standing out from the box, “—liven up the place.” He waves his hand around, then pushes the dark green leafy plant toward me.
“Thank you so much! Both of you. This is so kind,” I say around the leaves, trying not to drop their housewarming gifts. I’m more of a Moscato drinker, and a serial killer of plants, but this is supposed to be a new start, and I’m going to really try and keep this plant alive, while swigging red wine and waiting for my green thumb to blossom.
“Mom, who are you talking to?” I glance over my shoulder. Paige is standing at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister, confusion drawing her brows down.
“Some of our neighbors came over to introduce themselves.” My eyes snap back to Owen and Flynn, who are eyeing my daughter like she’s a newborn baby. Flynn’s mouth hangs open in pure joy.
“Oh my god, she is too much!” Owen says, his hands clasped together. They’re both in awe, starstruck, as if they’ve never seen a teenage girl before. It reminds me of women whose biological clocks are ticking and anything baby has them gushing all over the place.