Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry,” Madison says, real shame in her tone.
“For what?”
Tears start to form in her eyes but she quickly dashes them away.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, waving her hand in front of her face. “These hormones. Did I ruin TV night for you?”
“No,” I tell her, but yeah, she kind of did.
If he knows I’m not afraid of the show, then why in the world has he allowed me to do it for so long?
Chapter 5
Cash
I yawn into the crook of my elbow, shutting the patrol car door with my other hand. I miss the days of getting five hours of sleep and still managing to wake up feeling like I could take on the world. I got plenty of sleep last night, but I know it’s still going to take me another half hour or so to be fully functional.
I could’ve stayed in bed for a half an hour longer, but that would mean missing out on seeing Adalynn before my shift, and that just won’t do.
The front door to her bakery is unlocked which makes me flex my jaw a little in irritation. The bell above the door jangles, announcing my arrival, but if I were someone that meant her harm, it wouldn’t matter. As her friend, I know the back door sticks so badly that she can rarely even get the thing open. She usually has to bring her daily trash out the front door and carry it around behind the building to the dumpster in the back. It’s one of the many problems this building has. I’m sure it’s been here over a hundred years, and other than the beautification things Adalynn did to it when she bought it, it hasn’t been repaired much.
Adalynn isn’t in the front of the store, so I make my way around the counter to search for her in the back.
I dip my head and look into the humming freeze dryer to see what she’s working on today. She mentioned last week that the community took to her packaged candies without pause, and that she’s been having a hard time keeping some things in stock. The Skittles on three of the five trays she has have already split, looking like little colorful round sandwiches. The other two trays have chunks of something I don’t recognize, but I know it has to be something sweet. I helped her set up the machine while she watched tutorials online. I recall one of them advising against mixing savory and sweet as well as raw and cooked items.
As always, the place is meticulously clean. She’s a very organized person, so the immaculate countertops make it easy to notice the pamphlets stacked on one of the prep tables.
My heart stops in my chest when I get close enough to read the title on the top one—IVF: A Step-by-Step Guide.
I blink, but the information doesn’t change.
I’ve always known that Adalynn wanted to have children, just like I’ve known I can’t see myself as a father. With the life I’ve had, I wouldn’t wish that sort of thing on anyone. I don’t know if abandonment is a hereditary trait, but I’d never take that kind of chance.
It’s just one more reason we wouldn’t make a good couple. I can’t give her the things she’s always wanted in life, but these innocuous brochures feel like a sharp jab into my back.
She hasn’t once mentioned wanting to get pregnant this way. It feels like a form of betrayal because we’ve always told each other everything… well, mostly everything. She’d probably gasp and ask me to leave if she were privy to some of the thoughts I have about her.
“You’re early today.”
I spin to face her, the pink flush to her cheeks from being inside her walk-in cooler making me lose a little more of my sanity.
“IVF?” I ask, my tone more accusatory than it has any right to be.
Her lips form a flat line as she walks to another prep table. She doesn’t face me again until she places the batch of icing on the table and pulls off the lid.
I know her routine enough to know that she made the base buttercream icing yesterday, and she’ll color and flavor it this morning to match whatever treats she has on the menu.
“It’s probably not going to happen,” she says, sadness filling her eyes.
I want to reach out to her when she walks closer, but I take a step to the side so she can grab several smaller bowls from the shelf on the wall behind where I’m standing.
“You didn’t mention being infertile. I’m so sorry, Ads.”
She scoffs as she turns back to her work.
She has a routine. It wouldn’t matter about the topic we were discussing, she’d be working either way. She doesn’t keep her back to me because she’s avoiding the subject. She has a certain amount of time to get everything ready for the day. The deal is that I can be here, I just can’t get in the way.