Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Not diamonds this time.” He laughs, reaching down to caress the unicorn ankle bracelet I can’t seem to make myself remove even if I’m lounging at home in cutoffs and a ratty T-shirt. “You want to see?”
I link our fingers on his chest and nod. “Gimme.”
“Okay.” He leans forward and grabs his phone, typing out a text. “It’s outside.”
“It’s outside?” I slide off his lap and stand. “You better not have gotten me a car, Mav.”
“Oh, you’d turn down a Bentley?”
“Hell, no.” I toss my head back and laugh. “You know I wouldn’t.”
“Well, this is not that.” He takes my hand and leads me out of the office and up the hall. “It’s even better. I mean, if you want to keep it.”
“Why do you keep thinking I won’t want to keep it?”
Before he can answer, a sharp bark pierces the air. I stop, keeping his hand and pulling him up short. He grins over his shoulder at me.
“You didn’t,” I gasp, not sure how I feel about what that bark portends.
“Remember.” He steps close and kisses my forehead. “You don’t have to keep her.”
“Her?”
I walk around him and rush ahead. A guy holding a tiny dog stands in the living room beside a grinning Aunt Geneva.
“Mr. Bell,” he says, stroking the dog’s head. “Got your message to come on in.”
“Thank you.” Maverick walks over and takes the little dog into his arms.
“He’s the cutest thing,” Aunt Geneva purrs, looking lovesick already.
“She,” Maverick and I correct in unison.
Maverick walks closer, not making any move to hand over the Yorkshire terrier.
“You did once tell me a dog would be the closest you’d come to a maternal instinct,” he teases, but watches me closely with lifted brows. “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I reach out a tentative hand and rub her silky head. The fur is trimmed short, a rich caramel color streaked with dark chocolate. She peers at me over Maverick’s arm, giving me a look that must epitomize what they mean by puppy-dog eyes. My heart turns to a glob and I reach for her.
“You’re the prettiest girl,” I coo, holding her loosely against my chest. Her little paws tap my arm over and over like she hears some rhythm in her head. “You playing the drums for me?”
I laugh when her light taps continue, accompanied by staccato yelps.
“My little drummer girl,” I say with a laugh.
“Yours if you want,” Maverick interjects. “She comes housebroken and with some basic training, but if you decide you don’t want her—”
“I do.” I bury my nose in her clean-smelling fur. “I want her. Thank you, Mav.”
I kiss his cheek and blink away tears. Maverick has given me so many gifts, but this one, a tiny life I’m responsible for, moves me the most. It shows how well he knows me. I love taking care of people. My friends, my family. I have so much love to give, and it would be easy to assume that because I don’t want children, I don’t want the responsibility of caretaking. There’s nothing further from the truth. The chance to be an auntie to Soledad’s and Yasmen’s kids is an honor I’m so grateful for. Being there for my friends however they need me—one of my greatest joys. And being free to devote so much time to take care of my mother in this final stretch of her journey—
I’d never abdicate that daughter’s privilege. Maverick trusts me to choose where I pour my love instead of making the assumptions culture imposes on who should receive it. I’ve felt desired before. I’ve felt needed.
Now I know what it means to feel seen. To feel known.
Late that night, our bellies are full of Aunt Geneva’s lasagna and the laughter chimes through the whole house. My new pup’s personality may be too big for such a tiny body. She bounds all over the place, her energy brightening the room like sunshine even after the sun sets.
“Thought of a name yet?” Maverick asks from beside me on the couch, his arm draped around my shoulders.
The puppy hops from one spot to the next, pounding on pillows and tapping anything she can reach with her paws.
“Don’t laugh,” I say, side glancing him. “Sheila E.”
He snickers and shakes his head. “That’s actually perfect and feels exactly like what you would name your dog.”
“It’s the drumming.”
“Um, yeah.” He chuckles and kisses the top of my head. “I got that.”
“Want me to wrap up some of this lasagna to take with you, Mav?” Aunt Geneva asks from the living room door.
“No, I’ll be fine,” he says, smiling. “But thank you.”
“All right,” she says. “Well, I’mma turn in. Your mama’s already asleep, Hen. Working out in that garden has been good for her. She’s definitely been sleeping better lately.”
“Agreed,” I say. “Night, Aunt G.”
Maverick stands, crosses over, and gives my aunt a quick hug. “Thank you for all your hospitality. I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”