Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Close your eyes for me, darlin’,” I demanded.
“Hold on. Let me get to the couch,” she called, her voice a little high and airy, her excitement evident. “Okay. I’m ready.”
I carefully made my way down the stairs then set the box on the coffee table in front of her.
“Okay. Open.”
She looked up at me before she noticed the box on the table.
“No!” she said, eyes round, lips parted. “No, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
Of course, I did.
How could I not?
I constantly found her scrolling for rescue pigeons on her phone. She fell in love with each of them, telling me their stories, talking about how cute they were.
For the first few months, I’d tried to find her her very own New York City sick or needy pigeon.
Eventually, though, I had to go with the rescue she followed online.
And so, now we were a family of three.
Saff seemed about to burst out of her skin as she lunged at the box, then carefully pushed the lid down to loosen it.
“Oh, hey! Hey, baby,” she cooed at the black and white pigeon with a tiny splash of green on his neck. “Oh, I know you! You’re Dominic.”
Yes, he was.
“You were found on your side in an underpass in Chicago. You little survivor, you.”
“You can touch him. He’s friendly.”
“Can I?” she asked the pigeon as she offered her hands.
He tilted his head then stepped right into them.
“You’re home now, baby,” she told him as she carefully lifted him. “We’re going to give you such a special life. No more streets for you.”
Her eyes filled again.
“Thank you,” she said, sniffling hard as the pigeon hopped out of her hand to fly over to her shoulder. “We have so many things to buy.”
“He has an enclosure. Ledges. Food and water dishes. Soft beds. Seed. Red grit. Oh, and a few of those diaper things, so he doesn’t mess up the whole apartment.”
“You… planned.”
“I researched and planned for months.”
“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”
I moved over to sit beside her as Dominic toyed with her hair.
“Does it make up for that baking… mishap?”
“Mishap? That was deliberate poisoning.”
“It was the tiniest pinch of nutmeg known to mankind.”
“I still tasted it.”
Yes, she had. Then demanded I remake the apple turnovers without it.
“I will never try to expand your taste buds again.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” she said, leaning into me.
Saff - 3 years
“There’s something wrong with this coffee,” I said, waddling out of my office to put my strawberry mug—one of ten I now kept stocked at my coffee station—down on my assistant’s desk.
Her name was Gina, and she was an old girlfriend of Teresa’s who’d taken twenty years off of work to raise six children. To say she was capable of handling any catastrophe—whether real or made-up thanks to my own overreacting—was an understatement.
“The coffee is just fine,” she said with a wave of her dainty wrist, sending no fewer than four gold bracelets jangling.
“It tastes funny.”
“Maybe your taste buds are funky.”
I could always tell Gina was bullshitting me when she started shuffling things around on her desk. Just like she was right then.
“What’d you do to my coffee?”
“Made you a fresh cup like the intuitive, capable, and kind assistant I am,” she said, that accent of hers getting thicker as she spoke. “Heaven forbid I do my job.”
“Gina…”
“What?” she barked, tone fake-exasperated, tossing her long wavy brown hair.
“Why does the coffee that has tasted the exact same for the past few years suddenly taste different?” It was milder, less bitter.
“Listen, I’ve been in your shoes six times, miss ma’am. And that last time, I did it with five kids already tugging at my apron strings. But we still have to make smart decisions about what we put in our bodies.”
“Didn’t you tell me that during your first pregnancy you ate nothing but garlic knots and brownie batter ice cream?”
“Yes, well, you know better, you do better. I am imparting my hard-earned wisdom on you.”
“It’s decaf, isn’t it?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.
“You drink too much coffee.”
“I’ve cut down.”
“Your ‘cut down’ is a normal person’s consumption after being awake for forty-eight hours straight.”
“Decaf is gross.”
“Caffeine can cause small babies.”
“Well, this baby,” I said, pressing a hand to my stomach, “is measuring large for this stage in development.”
“Because its daddy is a giant. Look, you’re in the home stretch now. And this is the worst time to be drinking extra caffeine. So, just stick it out with the decaf for the next couple of weeks. If you’re tired, take a nap. That’s why that handsome man of yours had a sectional delivered to your office the moment the stick turned blue.”
“I can’t nap. I have—”
“A little human being growing inside of you who needs a healthy, low-stress momma. And a very capable assistant to pick up any slack. I’m looking for an excuse not to go home.” At my raised brow, she rolled her eyes. “My Christopher had to get a tooth filled today. Which means he’s basically acting like someone has strapped him down and pulled all his teeth. I can’t deal with him when he’s like this.