Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
11
Nick
Ella’s gorgeous as she stares at me. Yes, she’s clad in a weird Christmas sweater with a reindeer on the chest that looks like it’s drinking beer from a stein, as well as red and green knee-high socks that belong on one of Santa’s elves. But she’s gorgeous nonetheless, with those big blue eyes, delicate nose, and pointed chin. In fact, that chin looks determined right now, and I don’t know if she’s going to let me in. Fortunately, the beautiful blonde eyes me one last time with suspicion before stepping aside to permit entry.
“Come in,” she says in an abrupt voice. “It’s snowing.”
“It is,” I say while stepping into the entry foyer. It’s so small that I feel like I dwarf the space, with my head almost touching the light fixtures and my shoulders brushing against the walls. But I remind myself to be polite because I’m here for one reason, and one reason only: to get Ella and my son back in my life.
It’s been a tough year without her. After the scare at the hospital where I finally told her about Hadassah and my other child, Ella refused to speak to me. Everything was done via our lawyers after that, and when my attorney informed me that Ella intended to move back to Minnesota with our son, my heart almost broke.
“She can’t,” I said in a rough voice, my vision literally going dark for a moment. “She can’t take my son and just leave.”
“That’s true,” Chris said in a soothing voice. “But it’s not necessarily a bad thing. You told me yourself that Ella never really liked the big city. The concrete jungle isn’t her thing, and she feels stifled and anxious here. She wants to move your son to a place where he’ll get fresh air and sunshine while playing in a backyard. Is that so bad?”
“Marty can play in Central Park!” I raged. “It’s fine! Lots of kids do it!”
My attorney shrugged.
“Yes, but life is different in other places. There aren’t a million rats, psychos stalking the subways, and people consumed with making money. It’s a different life, and Ella’s attorney informed me that she wants a slower pace. She wants to raise your son in peace and quiet, and maybe even start up her career again.”
“In housekeeping?” I asked, askance. “No. It’s not necessary.”
“Not housekeeping, but interior design. Your baby’s mother has always had a thing for furniture, décor, and objects d’art, and wants to potentially take classes at a community college nearby when Marty gets older. She wants room to breathe and grow, and that’s not always possible when you live in the cramped quarters of New York.”
I knew Chris was right. Allowing Ella the freedom to be herself, and to raise our son in a healthy environment, was the right thing to do and so I let them go. It broke my heart to say goodbye to Marty, but even as the baby squealed and wailed, I made a vow: I’d be a part of my son’s life again, and on a regular basis too. I wasn’t going to let the miles separate us.
So here I am, in Ella’s small cottage where it feels like home. It’s not the décor, nor the close quarters, that make me feel like this is where I belong, although Ella’s done an amazing job with the tree, furniture, and knickknacks. No, it’s her. Her presence. Her soul and her light that make my heart bloom in my chest. The curvy girl is everything to me, and as I gaze upon Ella clutching my son close, I know I’ve made the right choice in coming back. My place is here, with them. The question is, will Ella agree? Or will I be cast out into the cold, only to return to New York a broken man?
12
Ella
Nick looks almost comical as he seats himself on our tiny sofa. His legs are so long that his knees jut upward slightly, and he’s so broad and big that the two-seater seems made for one. The handsome man looks uncomfortable, too, and for good reason because I haven’t exactly been all smiles.
“Can I get you some hot chocolate?” I ask in a perfunctory manner. “I’m sorry, but it’s all we have. Well, that and some warm milk.”
Nick manages a grin and is so devastatingly gorgeous that my heart flutters in my chest.
“Sure,” he says easily. “I’d love a mug.”
I pause with Marty in my arms because where am I going to put my son? But then on a whim, I dump him into Nick’s arms, and a huge smile wreaths the man’s features as the child reaches forward to tweak his father’s nose.
“Marty, hands down!” I mock-scold.
“No, it’s okay,” Nick laughs, gazing at his son with joy. “Hey Marty, do you remember me? I’m your dad.”