Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I settle back on the couch, kick my feet up on the coffee table, and open my laptop. I’ve got work to do and it’s important, so I use this precious time to dive in. Atlas is at the arena for the second game in the playoffs, and I have what might be a few hours of productivity before me.
It’s true I had to leave my job without giving them any notice, but I didn’t abandon my kids. I worked out a deal with my boss to let me review each file and provide an up-to-date summary of the case status. Then after each one was done, I forwarded it to the new caseworker, along with my cell phone number, so they could call me at any time with questions. So far, a few of them have taken me up on it and it’s been nice being able to stay a little connected.
It takes me a bit to get into the swing of things, mostly because I’m tired. I’ve been tired for months between caring for Gray in my downtime, as well as Grayce. Moving to Pittsburgh and trying to acclimate is causing its own share of sleepless nights. I wish I could use this free moment to nap myself, but sleep feels impossibly decadent.
Even as I’m going through one of my case files—a young girl who reminds me a lot of myself—my brain runs in continuous loops. Between listing therapy recommendations for the foster kid, I run through lists of what Grayce needs, what I need to do to accomplish those things, and what the future might look like. At night when I finally rest my head on my pillow, these loops continue and sometimes sleep takes hours to achieve.
A knock on the front door jerks me out of the spiral. I frown because we’re not expecting any deliveries that I know of, and I don’t know anyone here. I consider ignoring it, but this isn’t my house and it’s plausible that it’s a neighbor or a friend of Atlas’s.
Setting my laptop aside, I leave the plush comfort of the couch and pad across the hardwood floors to the front door. It’s solid, but there are two vertical panes of glass, one on each side, and I lean to peek through. I’m stunned to see Winnie waving like she’s arriving for a playdate. She’s in dark jeans and an oversized Titans sweatshirt, her hair in a topknot that somehow looks chic instead of frazzled. She’s balancing a tote bag on one hip and a cardboard bakery box in her hands.
When I open the door, she beams at me. “I come bearing reinforcements.”
“Um… Atlas isn’t here. He’s at the arena.”
Winnie rolls her eyes and tilts the bakery box side to side to draw my eye there. “I know that, silly. So’s Lucky, and I’m here. What better time to enjoy chocolate croissants and lemon muffins? Please don’t make me eat them all myself.”
The buttery smell sneaks past me before I can even answer. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say, because my reflex is always to refuse any sort of humanity.
“Sure I did,” she chirps, breezing inside like she’s lived here for years. “You’ve officially been initiated into the Titans family. We do baked goods and unsolicited advice. Where’s Grayce?”
“Asleep,” I say, as I watch Winnie head into the kitchen, tiptoeing as if her footsteps might carry through the walls. I shut the door and follow behind.
She sets the box on the counter and pulls out two mugs from the cabinet. “Tea? Coffee?”
“Coffee,” I admit. “Black.”
As she readies the pot, she rambles on, assuming I’m listening. “I just got off work about an hour ago and I have to be at the arena by seven, but that left me plenty of time to squeeze in a visit with you.” She looks over her shoulder. “You don’t mind, do you?”
I’m the type who would totally mind the unannounced intrusion into the few precious hours I have to myself, but something about Winnie charms me. “No, I don’t mind at all.”
“Excellent.” She beams. “Put the pastries on the table and start in on them.”
I chew on one of the chocolate croissants—it’s so good, I don’t know how I’m going to pass up having a second. I reason that I didn’t eat lunch today, so I can afford the calories. I’m starting on my second by the time Winnie comes to the table with coffee.
“Thank you,” I say and take a sip while it’s hot. When I set the mug down, I give her a sheepish grin. “I don’t drink hot liquids around Grayce, so I can’t remember the last time I had hot coffee straight from the brew.”
Winnie laughs, reaching for a muffin. “Then I’m extra glad I came by before the game.”