Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I turn my head and press my mouth to her hair. She smells like gardenias, the wine on her breath, and the hand lotion she puts on before bed, the one that comes in the white tube with no label because she buys it from some woman at the farmers’ market.
“Bex said ‘good.’ That was the whole review. ‘Good. We can work with that.’”
“Bex sounds like a woman who knows what she’s doing.”
“She’s terrifying.”
Josie laughs. The sound moves through her body and into mine where we’re pressed together.
“Paige already clipped the anniversary answer. Told me before she left, she’s putting it up tonight.”
“I know. She texted me the clip twenty seconds after she made it.”
I picture the two of them, Josie on this couch and Paige in the corner of the studio, connected by a phone screen and a shared belief in something I haven’t fully committed to yet. My wife and my daughter building a bridge I didn’t ask for, laying the planks before I’ve decided to cross.
Josie shifts in my lap. She pulls one leg free, tucks it beneath her, and turns so she’s facing me. Her blue eyes are dark in the lamplight. She puts her hand on my jaw, tilts my face toward hers. “You found something tonight,” she says.
I cover her hand with mine. Press it harder against my jaw. Feel the small bones of her fingers under my palm.
“Maybe.”
“Not maybe.”
She kisses me. Slow. Her mouth tastes like the wine, dark and warm. Her thumb traces the edge of my ear. I pull her in by the waist until there’s no space left between us, until her heartbeat is thumping against my chest through two layers of cotton, until the trembling in my hands finally stops because they’re full of her.
She pulls back just far enough to look at me. Her lips are stained from the wine.
“When’s the next one?” she asks.
“Couple of nights from now. Same time.”
She picks up her wine, leans her head against my shoulder, and folds back into me. I keep my hand on her thigh. The lamp throws warm light across the room. Outside, the night wind moves through the trees in the yard, and I can hear the dry rattle of leaves against the porch railing.
I sat in a room for three hours and talked to strangers about love. My hands shook through every minute of it. My wife listened to every word.
I think I liked it.
SEVEN
The noise reaches me before I’m off the last stair. Laughter from a couple of directions, baby babble, a ball game turned up loud.
I stop in the foyer. To my left, the game’s on in the living room, and I can see it from here. Noah’s on the couch with Maverick bouncing on his knee. Ben’s beside him with one of his boys asleep against his chest, Elle tucked under Ben’s other arm holding the second. Mack’s sprawled in the chair closest to the TV, and Beau, Ben and Elle’s Labradoodle, has claimed the rug. Somebody scores, and Noah throws both of Maverick’s fists in the air. The baby shrieks. Straight ahead, the front door and a driveway full of cars. To my right is the dining room, and past it the kitchen, where I can hear Josie.
I head for the kitchen.
Paige is at the island, laptop open, Amelie on the stool beside her with her chin on her knees. I rub the top of Amelie’s head on my way past, and she leans into it without looking up. Paige is showing her how she cuts the show clips. Trim here, caption there, the waveform bouncing along the bottom. Amelie hangs on every tap of the keys.
Josie’s at the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand, her hip cocked against the counter. I cross to her and kiss the side of her head. She tips it toward me, eyes never leaving the gravy. Peyton’s next to her with Junie on her hip and Jace strapped into the highchair, spooning sweet potato into him that he’s wearing more than eating. Junie throws both arms up when she sees me. I take her, and she fists my collar and shoves it in her mouth.
“You’re putting too much salt in that,” Talisa says, stepping in at Josie’s elbow.
“I have been cooking this meal for thirty years.”
“And it has been too salty for thirty years.” Talisa takes the spoon out of Josie’s hand and tastes the gravy. She reaches for the cream without asking, and Josie lets her. Nick brought her back from Johannesburg to help with Mack and Amelie. Ever since, she’s taken on the role of nanny to the triplets and helps out with the twins when Elle and Ben are in town.
“She’s right, you know,” I say.
Josie points the dish towel at me. “Nobody asked the singer.”