Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“How old were you?” he asks as he pours the wine.
“Twenty-two,” I say, realizing… he now knows how old I am. He’s never asked before, but he knows Hope is five so that puts me at twenty-seven. I wonder if that is even important to him, but I think not.
“Not overly young,” he says with a shrug, but then I’m floored when he says, “With Michelle… I wonder if, deep down, maybe she knew she wasn’t strong enough to be a mother.”
A lump forms in my throat as I round the island. He comes from the opposite side, eyes full of what looks like fear for even letting me in.
“No one really knows if they’re strong enough to be a mother,” I say. “I know I had my doubts. Still do for that matter.”
He gives me a grateful smile that I’ve pulled the attention away from Michelle and put it back on me. I’m moving away from such a sensitive subject because I know it makes him uncomfortable. Despite my insane curiosity to know this man on a deeper level, it’s obvious he doesn’t want that. He’s made that clear in the past, as did his sister earlier this week.
Asher sets the glasses down before pulling a stool out for me. I take it. When he’s seated beside me, we both take sips of our wine.
I set my glass down and pick up my utensils. “Speaking of kids… do you want me to grab some Halloween candy for next week?”
Asher frowns as he cuts into his chicken. “Why?
“Because I’m sure you’ll get trick or treaters in your building. Don’t want to get caught without any candy to hand out, do you?”
Asher gives me a sidelong, evil grin. “I intend to do what my father always did on Halloween. He turned off all the lights and hid in the basement until it was over.”
“You don’t have a basement,” I point out dryly.
“I don’t have windows on the front of my apartment for anyone to see me in here hiding, either.”
Laughing, I stab my fork in the air at him. “Touché.”
Asher eats a bite of chicken, groaning with delight. “This is fantastic.”
“Thanks.”
“You going to take Hope trick or treating?”
“Yup,” I say, feeling a tiny surge of excitement. “Nelson always hated doing it, but I love it. And she wants to be a fairy princess this year. I found an amazing dress for her online. It was a little expensive, but I felt like splurging on her. I don’t get to do it often.”
Asher’s smile is warm as he continues to cut up his chicken. “Where will you take her?”
“Just our neighborhood,” I reply, carving out another piece to put in my mouth. I wish I’d made some pasta with it. I’m a pasta freak. Chicken parm without rigatoni seems like a travesty.
“The fuck you will,” Asher says as he turns to face me. Setting his utensils down, he adds, “You’d probably get mugged before you made it half a block.”
I roll my eyes, plopping a piece of chicken in my mouth. He just glares at me so after I swallow, I say, “It’s not that bad. There are nice people in the neighborhood, and I’m sure there will be lots of people out.”
Asher opens his mouth to argue, and I’m sure it would be entertaining, but my phone rings. I groan. It’s the ringtone I’d set for Nelson.
“I seriously don’t want to answer that,” I say as I look forlornly at my purse where my phone is. But I have to because as much as I’m sure that he’s calling to taunt me again, in the off chance it’s about Hope or something happened to her, I always have to answer his call.
Leaning over the counter, I grab my phone from my purse. My tone is flat when I answer, “What is it, Nelson?”
He cuts right to the chase. It’s something I could have never expected in my wildest dreams. “I’ve decided not to fight you on custody of Hope. I’m going to agree to let you have full and primary, and I’ll take visitation on every other weekend. We can rotate holidays.”
My entire body turns to jelly, and I sag in my seat. My heart starts thumping so hard I’m afraid it will burst out of my chest. “Are you serious?”
He’s so matter of fact. So unemotional about giving up his child. “Yes. I’ve got a big project coming up, and it will be difficult to care for her.”
He means it will be difficult to get one of his floozy women to watch her.
But I don’t say that. I don’t think I have the strength to say much more than, “I don’t know what to say…”
“Thank you would be nice,” he mutters.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely, my own hand inadvertently pressing over my heart. “That means everything to me.”