Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
That dazzling smile falls, replaced by the fake one she always tries to use around me, and she casually loads up another dish. “Even at sixty, my mother’s still capable of driving me insane,” Aspen says, rolling her eyes and letting out a heavy sigh. “She spent an hour working on her table setting, then took one look out the window fifteen minutes before lunch was due to be served, and decided that she wanted to eat outside.”
I laugh, finally reaching her and stepping into her side. I immediately hook my arm around her, place my palm in the center of her back, and press a swift kiss to her cheek. “How’re you doing?” I ask, lowering my tone as I pull back, noticing the way a wave of goosebumps dances across her skin.
Aspen seems to think it over as if wondering what kind of response she wants to give when her cheeks begin to flush and she worries her bottom lip. A softness flutters in her eyes, and as she looks up at me, I’m fucking floored by her beauty. “I’m really good,” she tells me, and damn it, now I’m certain that something has changed.
Is she seeing someone? Maybe she’s finally fallen for someone else. That’s what I’ve always needed from her, but the thought of it doesn’t sit right with me. Perhaps Austin and I need to do some digging. Just because I’m not good enough for her doesn’t mean any other fucker is.
I nod, not sure how to voice a proper response without the deep curiosity showing in my tone. So instead, I reach for the dishes in her hands. “Here, let me help you.”
“Thanks,” she says, handing them to me and grabbing more. I follow her out of the dining room, through the kitchen, and toward the back door. “You should be warned though, Mom is on the warpath.”
My brows furrow, hoping nothing is wrong. “Why? Something happened?”
“You happened,” she says with a smug smirk.
The fuck? “Did I miss something?”
“Lunch,” she confirms. “It starts at twelve.”
“Okay. I’m definitely missing something,” I say, pausing by the back door, not willing to go out there without a little heads up when Angella is on the warpath, especially if it’s coming my way. “It’s not twelve yet. I’m still on time.”
“Are you though?” she questions, glancing back at me, her lips quirked into an amused grin before barely managing to get the door open. She steps outside but pauses again. “You know how Mom is. When there’s a lunch, there’s an unspoken rule to get here ridiculously early, but when it’s a big birthday . . .”
She lets her words trail off, willing me to put the pieces together myself, and the second it hits me, my eyes widen. “Oh fuck,” I breathe, glancing past Aspen to Angella, who’s standing out back, busily fussing over the outdoor setting. “I’m screwed.”
“That you are,” Aspen laughs. “I knew today was going to be a good day.”
She sashays away, and I refrain from dropping my gaze to her ass, repeating the mantra that’s been showing up more often than not—she’s my best friend’s little sister. I will never cross that line.
Making my way outside, I meet Angella’s haunting stare, and I put all the plates down before stepping right into her. “I’m sorry I’m late, Angie,” I tell her straight up, knowing she can’t resist it when you come straight out with the truth instead of trying to make up some bullshit excuse like Austin and Aspen do.
She fixes me with a hard stare, and I pull her into my arms, dropping a kiss to her cheek. “Happy birthday, Mom.”
She sobers immediately, and before she even says a word, I know I’ve been forgiven. She’s always loved it the few times I’ve called her Mom. The first time, it was an accident. I was only a kid and it spurted out, but the warmth in her eyes when it happened has always stuck with me, and despite not being one of her biological children, I know she’s always loved me as a son.
“Thank you, Izaac, but like I said to Aspen, no amount of flattery will save you,” she tells me, pulling back. “You and Austin are on dishes, and the dishwasher is off-limits.”
My face falls, horror booming in my chest as I glance at the table while recalling just how many dishes are still inside. Angella must have used every single dish in the house. “You mean . . .?”
“Yep, you’ve gotta scrub the good china by hand. And I’ll tell you what, there better not be a single mark left on those plates.”
“Shit,” I say with a heavy sigh.
Ten minutes later, after checking in with Marc and Austin and helping Aspen with the rest of the table setting, we all sit down to lunch, basking in the sunlight. It’s a great day made even better by greater company, even if it means spending the rest of my life scrubbing dishes.