Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Then there were the practical matters. If I was going to support a child, I had to work. That meant I needed a regular babysitter, in addition to finding a new place to live.
There were also legal matters. I’d filled out the Affidavit of Parentage the state of Michigan required in order to claim paternity, but I needed Rachel’s information and signature. Then we’d have to work out a custody agreement.
There would be financial matters to deal with, too—child support. Health insurance. College fund. My will and trust. And I still had to face bringing Paisley home to meet my mother next weekend.
And Emme. I’d meant everything I’d said to her last night, but I was so damn terrified. Throughout the night, whether it was Paisley keeping me up or my anxiety, I just kept thinking of all the ways I could blow it with Emme.
Like today, I could tell she’d been looking for some display of affection from me, some sign that she was more to me than just the nanny—and she was, my God, she was—but I hadn’t been able to give it to her. Even after what we’d done last night, something in me wouldn’t allow it. I’d stood there like a fucking telephone pole when she’d tried to hug me. Why was I such a dick? Was I afraid of giving her too much hope? Was I trying to lower her expectations even further? Was I too entrenched in my emotional foxhole, the one I’d dug so many years ago and refused to climb out of?
Because the crazy thing was, I’d wanted to kiss her. Hold her for a moment. Feel like myself again, the way I’d felt during sex last night. I’d wanted to pull her in close, smell her hair and her skin, so I’d have the memory of it throughout the day. I’d wanted to tell her what was wrong when she asked, wanted to admit how upset I’d been by the reactions of people at work. I’d wanted to say Yes, come back later, have dinner with me again, lie with me again, and this time, don’t leave. Let me hold you in my arms as we fall asleep. Let me breathe you in all night. And whatever you do, don’t let me push you away, because I’m going to try.
What the actual fuck was wrong with me?
I couldn’t even think. I fell asleep right there on my back, fully clothed, shoes on, feet on the floor arms outstretched, and dreamt I was being buried alive.
Eleven
Emme
Back in my apartment, I changed out of my jeans and shirt and put on black pants, a blush-colored blouse that tied around the neck, and low heels. We were actually just going to have lunch at her house, but I still wanted to appear professional. I’d learned a lot from both Mia and Coco, including that personal appearances matter, especially in our business.
Not that Nate had noticed much about my appearance this morning.
Annoyed, I frowned at my reflection as I wound my hair into a bun. Was I being unreasonable? Needy? Impatient? Had I been wrong about myself last night?
Maybe. But I didn’t think so. And I couldn’t shake the sense of resentment brewing as I drove over to Coco’s. My expectations were pretty low, but they weren’t nonexistent. I didn’t need to be the center of his universe, but I’d at least like to feel like a part of the sky.
Coco and her husband, Nick, lived in a big, beautiful old home in Indian Village, one of Detroit’s historic neighborhoods. They claimed it had been a giant mess when they bought it, and that something was always going wrong with it, but to my eye it looked perfect. Big flowerbeds waiting to be planted out front, huge rooms with high ceilings and crown moldings, gorgeous original wood floors that creaked when you walked on them, reminding you this house had a history. They had bumped out the back of the house in order to put on an addition with a big modern kitchen and family room, and since the house had been built on a double lot they’d still had enough room to put in a pool and patio with a built-in grill. Nick was a chef and owned several restaurants in the city, as well as the apartment building Nate and I lived in, which was how I managed to afford such a beautiful loft. They gave me a great deal on the rent.
I knocked on the big wooden front door about 12:15, and Nick answered it. Like Nate, Nick was tall, dark, and handsome, although in an entirely different way. Nick was clean-shaven, with olive skin and deep brown eyes, and his arms were sleeved with tattoos. I’d attended several pool parties here at their house and knew that he had them on his back and chest too. Once I asked him if he had a favorite, and he pointed to the one on his left pec, which was a heart with an arrow through it and said Coco at the top. “It was my first one,” he’d told me, “and will always be my favorite.” Coco had rolled her eyes, but she’d kissed his cheek, and I could tell she was happy about it. I was sort of in love with them as a couple. Not in a creepy way—but for me, they were the gold standard of a relationship, and Nick was the ultimate husband. All man, but not afraid to let his feelings show.