Total pages in book: 203
Estimated words: 199654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 998(@200wpm)___ 799(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 998(@200wpm)___ 799(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
But I quickly realize the reason for the expression on Bailey’s face. She’s looking into the living/dining room, at the back wall over the patio doors that lead to the yard where there’s a huge white banner with glittery red printing.
Welcome Home, Jase and Bailey
My beat-up dining table, which is covered by a tablecloth I’ve never seen before, has a basket full of stuff along with a few wrapped gifts. There’s red glitter all over the table.
Bailey is staring at it with wetness filling her eyes.
Her chin wobbles before she covers her mouth with her hand.
“Let’s get some towels. You’re drippin’ wet,” I say, my voice coming out gruff.
“So are you,” she says unnecessarily.
“I’ll go get the–” I start.
“I’ll just go up to the…” She points to the staircase behind her.
“Yeah. I’ll…” I let that hang.
There’s awkward silence I’ve never experienced with her before and finally she puts her purse on the table by the front door, takes the initiative, and climbs the stairs.
I follow her up and into the bathroom at the top of the stairs, immediately clocking two new hooks on the wall beside the tub that weren’t here before. Black metal signs, each the size of a playing card are above each octopus style hook. His. Hers. The hooks hold fluffy new towels. I grab one and pass it to her before I take the other for myself and step back, moving into my bedroom and flicking on the light while rubbing my wet hair.
“Flippin’ heck,” she mutters and I realize why.
Rose petals in the shape of a heart on top of my bed.
Shit. My mother and sisters. This bed has Gwen written all over it. And I’m sure Mom and Taylor encouraged it. Taylor is a couple years older than me, Gwen is the youngest, four years younger than Sherry. And Gwen is known for decorating with flowers.
When I left for Italy, the place was clean. Mom and Tay helped after Linc moved out. Before I took off, I made the bed, something I don’t usually bother to do, but had a sneaking suspicion things would kick off while I was gone and that I’d be bringing my mate home. But now there’s a new white quilt, half a dozen new pillows on the bed, and all these rose petals.
I reach into my closet, which has also been tidied since I left and grab a flannel shirt.
She’s holding the towel, staring at the bed. And the tears are streaming down her cheeks, but she’s not making a sound.
“Here. You can sleep in this,” I hand the shirt over, not knowing what I can say or do to get her to stop crying. Stop feeling whatever this is she’s feeling that’s making her hurt. Because right now it feels like my throat is clogged, like there’s a boot on my chest. I hate this shit.
She accepts the shirt and walks out and down the hall.
“Where you goin?”
She doesn’t answer, so I follow.
She’s standing just inside the doorway to Linc’s old room. The room is empty. She walks down the hall to the end where the rooms that used to be Rye’s and Joel’s are. I turned Rye’s old room into an office, but it’s still littered with boxes and their old bed frames and mattresses are upended against one wall.
“No guest bed?” she asks.
“Not yet. I decided you could pick the new furniture when you moved in.”
“I could put one of those mattresses on Linc’s bedroom floor”
“They’re pretty buried by the frames.”
Thankfully.
She is not fuckin’ sleeping on Linc’s or Rye’s old beds.
“I’ll… crash on the couch. Unless you want to give up your bed like a gentleman?”
I make a critical error, turning up the charm and drawling, “There’s nothing I want more in the world right now than to have you in my bed, Bailey Blackwood.”
This is the wrong thing to say by the look on her face. But she doesn’t explode. She doesn’t say a word. Instead, she walks back into my room and I stand in the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching as she sets my shirt on the upholstered bench at the end of the bed (which is also new. I didn’t have one of these before I left for Italy).
She proceeds to carefully lift each of the bottom corners up before she carefully folds the ends toward the middle of the bed. She walks up to the head of the bed and adjusts pillows on one side, then climbs up, her sweet peach of an ass up in the air as she stretches to do the same on the other side. She falls forward, grunts, and gets back on her hands and knees, making me adjust my package with discomfort.
Returning her focus to what she was doing, she carefully folds the bedspread in an attempt to save all the rose petals. She puts the folded bedspread on the top of my long dresser. I see the comforter I made the bed with the other day is still on the bed so I won’t have to get another.