Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“Why don’t you have more houses?” Kola asked me.
“Because I’m picky about the uniform height and what they look like, and some people, for whatever reason, make them without front doors. I mean, that’s ridiculous. How do you get in?”
“I think you might be what’s ridiculous.”
I scoffed. “As if.”
“But when did you—oh wait now. I did know this,” Kola said, more to himself than anyone else. “Uncle Aaron brought you back that little painted house from Paris, and Hannah got you that one from the auction at the estate of––”
“What auction?” I asked my daughter.
“What?” she asked me.
“Stop, just tell me. Was it the little pink house?”
“What?” she repeated.
“It looks just like the little house in the book The Little House by Virginia Lee Burton.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she assured me.
“How much did it cost?”
“That is not the important takeaway here,” she stated. “The important thing is––”
“Why are you on the treadmill when you were at a party earlier?” Sam asked her.
“Oh, because Jake and I are driving to see his father tomorrow and I won’t have a chance to go on my run and I ate a lot of terrible food earlier.”
“Do you want to come over for a meatloaf sandwich?”
“It’s nearly ten now,” she told me.
“You said earlier that you wanted one,” Sam reminded her.
“I did, didn’t I.”
“I promise not to say one word about the house,” I vowed.
“Okay,” she agreed quickly. “I’m bringing Jake. He’s running laps at the moment.”
“He can have lasagna.”
“Oh, I’d rather have lasagna, mine was terrible. Again. I need to look at the layers.”
“I asked them about their wills too,” he told her.
“Good, what did they say?”
He talked to her. I waved and went upstairs and turned on House of the Dragon, which I was behind on. I’d seen the first episode of season two, but not any more of them. I had learned my lesson with Game of Thrones not to get attached to anyone, and so far, none of the deaths, except for the queen in the first season, had gutted me. Sam and I normally watched them together on Sunday nights, but I had been too busy the last few Sundays.
Halfway through the second episode, Hannah leaned into my bedroom.
She had a plate with lasagna on it and Caesar salad that I was guessing she’d brought with her, along with a bottle of water. “You’re up here because of why?” she asked me.
“Your father and Kola are talking,” I told her.
“They probably were, but now Jake’s with them, so you can come downstairs if you want.”
“I have to catch up on this before it goes too many episodes.”
“I can just tell you,” she offered. “I watched all these.”
“Oh thank God,” I said, and turned down the volume before I passed her the clicker. Hannah was excellent at recap. She would fast-forward the episodes, tell you what was said in the moment, and that way you’d have a summary with visual reference shots but without actually having to sit through it. And with something crucial, like two people talking, giving each other brand-new information, she’d stop and let that scene play out in real time. I was a big fan.
During the third episode, Sam came in and looked at the screen that Hannah had paused.
“You’re doing your recap thing?”
“I am,” she told him. “This way, he’ll be ready for Sunday.”
“Is Kola gone?” I asked him.
“No, he’s downstairs eating with Jake.”
“I’ll go down too so you guys can chat for a minute,” she announced, taking her plate and empty water bottle with her.
Before she reached the door, I said, “Don’t leave without––”
“Saying goodbye. I know,” she said, smiling at me before she slipped out.
Sam closed the door behind her.
“You look strange.”
“It was an interesting conversation.”
“Is it one that you’re allowed to share with me?”
“Yes. I asked him if that was okay or not.”
“And he said?”
“He said yes. The only reason he didn’t want to talk to us at the same time was that he wanted to hear directly from me and know what I thought without you smoothing it out.”
“I don’t do that.”
He scoffed. “You always do that, which is a very good thing.”
“But not this time?”
“He wanted the cold hard truth, as it were.”
“Okay.”
He was quiet, though, not telling me anything.
“Well?” I prodded him. He grimaced, and my heart dropped into my stomach. “He’s not sick or something, is he?” I barely got out.
“No, nothing like that.”
I could breathe again. “Oh thank God. Okay. Tell me.”
Again, nothing.
I met his gaze. “Sam?”
He cleared his throat and sat down on the end of the bed. “He wanted to know if I had ever been the bottom during sex.”
It took me a few moments. “Huh. Well. That’s not what I was expecting at all.”
“Me neither,” he replied, sounding hoarse.
“And when you said no, what did he say?”