Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
At four thirty, I get off the couch and make a quick dinner of chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, and baked beans. I risk the chance it’s something that Ryder will like because it’s the same combination my adoptive mom used to help me open up.
I don’t think Ryder has been starved like I was when I was younger, but boys are always hungry.
Sunshine mouths a thank you to me, and thankfully the child isn’t so stubborn that he’ll refuse to eat something I made. He even manages a thank you before he starts eating.
He didn’t argue when she told him to come to the table. He clicked the television off and headed into the small dining room.
He didn’t argue when she told him that he needed to get a bath before bed.
All of this is part of their routine, and I know how important that is for a child.
“Fuck,” she whispers when he heads down the hallway to the bathroom. “I didn’t get his clothes from my mom’s house. Knowing her, she probably burned them out of spite.”
“We’ll get whatever he needs tomorrow,” I offer, pointing to the three bags behind the couch. “He came with those.”
I can see that Ryder’s experience had to have been better than most of my own while in foster care because his belongings arrived in two duffle bags and a Superman backpack. The sticker on the back of her phone makes complete sense now.
“The good thing about family services is that they’re quick to fill the basic needs of kids who end up in care without them.”
She darts her eyes away from me, and I feel like an asshole.
“Not that he didn’t have them at home, but they’d rather fill those needs out of their own pocket than make contact with a parent and wait for them to bring something. Some parents refuse, thinking it would get them their children back faster.”
“I would never,” she counters.
“I know you wouldn’t.” As I say it, I realize I fully believe it. “Some of us didn’t have amazing mothers like you.”
She nods at me, her lip quivering.
“Mommy!”
She pulls her eyes away, scooping down to grab the straps on all three bags before heading down the hallway toward her son.
I head back into the living room. It takes over an hour before Sunshine comes out of the back bedroom.
“I want to apologize for his standoffish behavior,” she says.
“Is he asleep?”
I don’t want her missing time with him because she feels obligated to me.
She nods. “I had to read him a book from my phone because all of his are at my mom’s house.”
With an exhausted huff, she drops down beside me. I regret sitting on one end because it gives her the chance to leave a cushion between the two of us.
“He has the same voice,” I confess. “The little boy in my dream, the one I thought was my son.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I pray she doesn’t get confused. I’m not saying I want to help her raise the child, but the thought isn’t as off-putting as it probably should be for a guy who doesn’t exactly have his own fucking life together.
“My mom had bingo once a week, and I had to bring him twice with me while I was helping you in your room.”
I grin, the angel’s voice telling the child to be quiet so he doesn’t wake the man, making as much sense as the sticker on her phone case.
I know what’s coming next when she pulls her eyes away from me and locks her stare across the room.
“We have off-the-charts chemistry,” I say before she can speak and tell me it was a massive mistake.
She nods as if she feels it too, but I can’t exactly count it as a win.
Silence is thick around us, but several minutes pass without her making excuses and downplaying her need for me when she came into the house earlier. I wouldn’t throw it in her face that she instigated it all, but I also won’t take all the blame if she decides to go that direction either.
“It can’t happen again,” she whispers, and for some reason, I feel like she’s cutting me off at the knees.
I’d like to focus on my body’s need, to blame my reaction on not fulfilling those base desires, but it’s my heart that kicks in my chest.
Part of me wants to get angry, like she’s taking away a toy after dangling it in my face, but that isn’t fair either.
I stand, and she does the same, still refusing to make eye contact when I clasp her hand.
I step in close to her, knowing I’m treading a fine line because of the statement she just made. She isn’t challenging me. This isn’t some ploy to get me to fight for her. She has too much else going on in her life to worry about adding to the complications of whatever this is building between us.