Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
One Sunday morning, when he wasn’t on breakfast duty, he snuck out before Nicky woke up and returned with the fixings for pancakes, the first to cook an actual meal in the new kitchen in our cottage. Nicky had gotten out of bed to find Finn manning the griddle, not the least bit bothered by Finn in our personal space. Instead, Nicky had stumbled into the kitchen, eyes bleary, pajama bottoms hanging off his skinny little boy hips, and said, “Is there cocoa, Mr. Finn?” Finn had told him he could have his cocoa for a price and handed him the whisk.
Together they made us blueberry pancakes, Finn gently nudging Nicky back from frying bacon in the cast iron skillet before he got burned, making sure Nicky put on potholders when they slid a tray of pancakes into the oven to keep warm. They looked at home together, Nicky beaming when Finn gave him a simple “Nice flip” as Nicky successfully turned his first pancake.
Thinking back on the memory now, a puzzle piece clicked into place inside me. When I was pregnant with Nicky, this domestic scene was exactly what I’d envisioned for us. Laughing mornings in the kitchen making pancakes and bacon and snuggling in bed on a winter night, knowing our child was sleeping nearby. Oliver was gone, and in his place was Finn, the one person I’d never imagined taking Oliver’s place.
A part of me shouted, This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The rest of me told that part to shut up. I was happy. Nicky was happy. Far happier than either of us had ever been with Oliver if I were being honest with myself. What more could we want than this?
I didn’t know. I didn’t know what to do with this new reality. I just knew I liked it.
With that uncomfortable thought, I drifted off to sleep, my cheek pressed to Finn’s shoulder.
My eyes popped open to see Griffen standing in front of us, his blond hair mussed as if he’d been tugging at it. “Did she have the baby?” I croaked, my voice thick with sleep.
“Not yet. She’s at nine centimeters. The anesthesiologist is putting in the epidural. They kicked me out for a few minutes, told me to get some air.”
Finn smirked at his older brother. “I’m not sure there’s enough air in the hospital to fix what’s wrong with you.”
“I know,” Griffen said, sinking into the chair opposite us. “I didn’t think about it taking so long. It’s always fast in the movies, and there’s so much screaming.” He shook his head. “This waiting is worse. She’d better be good with this one because we’re not doing this again.”
He surged to his feet and strode back to the doors, holding up his wrist and the security band the nurses had placed on there to unlock the doors.
Finn shook his head. “He’s a mess. You want to get some food? I’m starving.”
“Enough to eat hospital food?” I teased.
The hospital cafeteria was surprisingly good. I bypassed all the healthy options, going straight for a burger and a piece of chocolate caramel cake. Finn saw my tray and grinned. “Such a sucker for chocolate and caramel,” he said under his breath.
I was, and he knew it. Just days before, he sent me a text with a blurred-out image, typing beneath it NSFW. Not Safe For Work. I’d been hit by an overwhelming wave of disappointment. A dick pic? Really? I mean, every woman’s gotten one, but I hadn’t pegged Finn as the type. Why some men thought an unexpected penis was a good way to get a woman’s attention was beyond me. Nothing against penises. I’m a fan, but not in my text messages.
Reluctant but unable to stop myself, I clicked the image and burst out laughing. It was not a dick pic. Instead, it had been a picture of a rich chocolate cake, a pool of liquid caramel in the center, dripping down the sides, topped with a melting scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream. My mouth watered. I could almost smell it.
Those three dots came on the screen, and my phone beeped with another message.
Kitchen. Now.
I dropped what I was doing without a second thought. I met Finn in the kitchen, and he dragged me to the bed in my old apartment, dessert in hand. We were covered in smears of chocolate and caramel by the time we collapsed in the sheets, satisfied in every way.
Sitting at the empty end of a long table in the cafeteria, we ate, Finn watching me with hot eyes as I fed him a bite of my chocolate caramel cake. “Not as good as mine,” he said, “But wait until you see what I can do with salted caramel and whipped cream.”
I grinned, my imagination running wild.