Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Zeke’s brow dipped as he passed Naz a scowl. “Are you high? Who needs two people to cut a cake?”
Roz laughed. “Just do it. It’s all in good fun, Daddy.”
“Stop wasting time,” Naz said, “cut the cake—and Ma, don’t open that box until they’re cutting.”
“Why not?” Catherine said, her tone suspiciously whiney.
Naz only shook his head.
Nope.
They would find out soon enough.
Cross finished his wine with a huff, and set the glass to the table as he gave his son a wag of his finger before lifting from his chair. That was another thing his father didn’t like—standing from his chair before someone else at the table. He preferred to be the last person to leave a dinner, following right behind his wife.
That was just their way.
At the other side of the table, Zeke stood from his chair as well, but he kept a hold on the crystal glass with his remaining bit of wine. Two knives were picked up from the middle of the table, left over from dinner. As the two men popped the plastic cover from the cake holder, Catherine and Katya had their boxes ready to go.
It was only as two knives were cut through the cake did their mothers pull the bows from the boxes. It was timed almost perfectly—Catherine gasped first at the sight of two little gold crowns, one with pink gems embedded in the band, and one with blue, and Katya soon followed with a shout of happiness. The hollers from their fathers came right after as Cross and Zeke pulled two pieces of cake out with the knives, one with the middle colored in blue on one side, and one colored in pink.
Cross stared across to his son, a smile drifted over his face. “Another grandbaby?”
Naz nodded. “Yeah, Dad.”
“Oh, Naz,” Catherine whispered.
He shrugged.
Their pride was clear.
So was their love.
What else could he do?
Beside him, Zeke and Katya had already rounded the table with enough noise to break the windows to celebrate with them, too. A hand hit his back hard before Zeke bent down to hug his daughter. Kayta did the same. Under the table, Naz kept a hand on Roz’s thigh because he knew this was probably a bit overwhelming.
“A baby,” his father said again.
Naz laughed. “It’s going to be a busy year.”
“But a good one.”
That, too.
The Donatis
“Done,” Naz grumbled, wishing he had taken his grandmother’s offer of her flowery garden gloves to protect his hands because fuck. He had so much dirt under his fingernails that it was going to take hours to get out. And not to mention, yeah, he was known to occasionally work with his hands, but not typically like this. He didn’t get on his hands and knees in a fucking garden to pull weeds for hours.
Oh, he wasn’t joking.
Not exaggerating.
Not even a little.
His father had suckered him into helping Emma get her garden ready for planting because she misses you, and she doesn’t get to see you enough. Right. What his father didn’t say was that Cross just didn’t want to be the one here on his hands and knees, ruining very expensive clothes, to pull out weeds that would, no doubt, grow back in a couple of weeks.
Because they were weeds!
“Oh, we’re not done,” Emma said, poking her head up over the shrubbery bush. “We have to till the soil again, and add in a bit of the fertilizer to mix it again. Then, we’ll get the rows ready over there for the new roses I want to put in.”
Oh, my God.
Naz knew work.
He did.
He loved to work on cars. He was good with grease, and oil. He worked out morning and night to keep his body in shape. And yet, on his knees under the hot August sun after pulling weeds for several hours, since almost the moment he woke up that morning considering this was the first place he came after he ate breakfast, he was tired.
Exhausted.
“Grandmama?”
“Hmm?”
Emma’s bright smile came his way, and his shoulders dropped a bit. She was happy—so fucking happy. His father probably hadn’t lied, all things considered. His life was constantly chaotic, even if that was how he liked it best. He did great things under immense pressure, after all. Nonetheless, it kept him on the move, nonstop. The only time he really got to sit down with his grandmother was every other Sunday for family dinner at her house.
The other Sundays, they went to his mother’s family.
In those seconds, with his grandmother staring his way and waiting for him to speak, Naz decided it didn’t fucking matter what he felt. So what if he was tired. Who gave a shit if it was way too hot. He didn’t have a green thumb, and he didn’t give a shit what roses needed to grow as beautiful as they could be, but whatever.