Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
"I don't know about you, baby. I don't know if this is what a just-born baby looks like, or if you're more of an older guy or gal. You have some very brown eyes. So that's something. Brown eyes are nice. I'm a fan. What do you think of my eyes?"
I widen them as we approach the kitchen. Then I realize that with just my dark, buzz-cut-length hair, which isn’t growing back the way I hoped it would atop the surgical scar up there, my wide eyes are probably more terrifying than anything else.
“Never mind on that. You know, just keep it to yourself,” I murmur.
I'm at the kitchen doors, dammit. I hold the baby closer, using my bum shoulder to push through the swinging door and whispering in a quiet and hopefully soothing fashion as I speed walk through the eating area.
"I don't want to see another human right now. You get that, right? Scandal isn't what we're after. Not today, baby. So we'll just jet up to the pastor's office. You and me. You wanna go up there?"
The little critter blinks, its small mouth twisting like it might cry again.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. You do. You're feeling pretty happy you got dropped with me, a guy that can sing...I don't know...at least better than average. Not great. What do you think the odds are that I found you? Out of everybody? Or maybe some other people passed right by you. Surely not, though? Who would do that?"
Fuck, fuck, fuck...only a few more atriums and then I'll be at the big corridor, and then the staff stairs to the pastor area. If I try to look official, like I'm anyone other than the not-exactly-Christian artist in residence who's fucking the head pastor, maybe no one will stare too much.
But...no dice. The baby starts to wail again right as a bunch of students—at least I think they're students—led by two college-aged girls in deep purple Evermore shirts—approach me.
I give them a brief smile, trying to look normal.
"Oh my goodness," one girl coos. "Is that a baby?"
"Yeah, but he's unhappy. Maybe needs to eat." I shrug and jet toward the staff stairs.
"Is that it?" I ask the baby in the echoing stairwell. "Do you need to eat? I don't know what we'd do about that. Oh wait—I bet there's some baby stuff down in the church's nursery!" I nod my head, and the baby settles down again as I shift my arm. "You understand me, don't you? You're a magic baby."
I have lost my fucking mind.
Then I'm at the door that leads into the pastor's wing. I push it open with my back this time, so as not to irritate the just-shot-up shoulder, and the baby starts to cry again.
This time, there's no hiding from the eyes on me. I don't know names for most of these cats, but they know who I am, and their eyes pop open wide when they see I'm holding a wailing baby.
"Wow," one says, at the same time another guy says, "That guy's not happy."
I just nod, moving as quickly as I can toward Luke's door. When I reach his receptionist, I blink and realize it's not even her. It's Pearl sitting behind the desk.
"Vance! Hi there.” Her eyes widen as she realizes what I’m holding. “Oh, wow. Who is this darling little angel?"
"I've got a baby in these blankets, Pearl," I whisper-hiss. "Someone left it at the door for me and Luke."
Her eyes peel open wider.
"Can I see Luke, or is this a bad time?" I ask.
"Any time is a good time if it's you, Vance. He tells me that all the time."
She knocks once, and the door opens. Luke is already standing there, frowning. His eyes widen as he registers me.
"V. What's—"
I step past him. "Sky. I've got a baby."
Luke
"Well, you're right. That does seem like a baby." I can't help laughing as Vance hops from one foot to the other with the blanket-swathed baby in his arms, looking horrified and also guilty that he can't appease it. "Where’d you get it?"
His face falls, and my stomach does a quick twist. "That's the bad thing here, Luke. Someone left this little tyke," he says in a slight sing song, looking down into the baby's face, "by the back door. In a box, like a U-Haul moving box. With a note that said the baby is for us. For the gays or some shit like that. Since the pastor wants a lot of babies."
I can't even process what he's saying for a second. "So you're telling me this is a safe-surrendered baby?"
Vance frowns, holding the bundle closer to his chest, and my eyes move down him, noting his blue T-shirt and black jeans and his short hair and the scruff on his jaw. I don’t remember him wearing that this morning, but he looks amazing.