Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Slipping a hand around the side of my neck, he pulled me close and kissed my forehead. “Tell her.”
I snorted. “What your father means to say is no, darling, you don’t have to worry about your parents getting a divorce.”
Funny how even though she knew it in her heart, she still shivered just a bit.
“Who’s getting divorced now?” Kola asked, walking into the kitchen in a navy suit, a white dress shirt, and black wingtips. “I swear to God, married couples are dropping like flies.”
“No one,” I answered, squinting at him. “Where are you off to, dressed like that, son of mine?”
He turned to his sister. “I thought we were all going except Dad.”
“We are,” she replied, turning to me with a smile that was all teeth. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I replied, crossing my arms.
“Here’s the thing. I have to check on a silent auction today. I have to go and look at everything, and I thought, afterwards, that we could have lunch at our favorite Italian place, since they opened their patio and Jake would like it.”
Anything for Jake.
I nodded. “You called them already, didn’t you?”
She bit her bottom lip. “I might have.”
“Well, why don’t just you and Jake go and––”
“No,” Jake whined, face crumpled, head back, a death rattle coming out of him.
“It’s boring as hell,” Kola informed me as the back door opened and Harper waved before he detoured to the sink to wash his hands.
“It’s not boring,” Hannah informed him and me. “I’m just…thorough.”
Sam scoffed. “That’s code for boring. I’m outta here. I’ll see you guys tonight.”
“How about late afternoon?” I suggested, following him to the back door, where he turned around to look at me. “Very early evening.”
“Like six?”
“Five?” I asked hopefully.
“Six is pushing it, you know that.”
I slid my hands up his chest. “We’re having company, as you recall.”
He rolled his eyes. “Why are my sisters bringing their kids over here?”
“Because they miss you, and now that you’ve been vaccinated, they––”
“But you guys haven’t been,” he groused at me, “and God help them if they come over here without masks on and––”
“No one’s coming inside, Sam. Jake has the heaters all ready to go on the deck.”
He grunted.
I lifted for my kiss. “Just come home.”
“Like I wouldn’t come home,” he grumbled before he gave me a quick, though serious, kiss. I had to grab the doorjamb when he left. The smug chuckle was not lost on me.
Turning, I faced the kids. “So, what are we doing?”
The auction was being put together to benefit Saving Grace, which was a women’s shelter downtown. Hannah volunteered at the shelter, along with her aunt Aja, and she had the idea, and of course, Aaron Sutter had said why don’t we rent out the gem vault in one of the high-end jewelry stores on the Miracle Mile.
“And you’re doing what, now?” I asked my daughter, following her from display to display as she looked at items on pedestals with typed cards explaining what it was, what the provenance was, and the starting bid. All of her, from her textured crepe blazer to the white turtleneck sweater, tailored pants, and black slingback heels, was sophisticated and polished, but it was blown all to hell with the addition of her Supernatural mask that she’d hand made. “And what’s with that mask?”
“First off, I’m checking to make sure that what is written on the card is––” She growled suddenly. “––actually correct.”
I watched as she took off one of her white gloves, typed into her phone, checked the number against the list she was looking at, and typed some more. Once done, the glove went back on and we moved to the next.
“And second,” she said, lifting her head to give me a quick scowl, “I have watched every episode of Supernatural more than twice, so this mask perfectly captures something I love.”
“Okay, then,” I teased her, watching as she picked up the next thing. “What is that?”
“I’ll tell you in one second,” she informed me, turning it over, checking the bottom, and then placing it back on the pedestal before looking up at me. “That is an antique incense burner made in France and distributed by the famous New York City import house of Ashley Abraham Vantine,” she explained. “This one’s in very good shape, which is impressive considering they were cast in the 1920s.”
“And you just know this?”
She nodded.
“Why do you know this?”
“I have three of these,” she explained brightly. “I put little lights in them. You’ve seen them in my room.”
Come to think of it, I had. “So they’re what, like, a million each?”
She scoffed. “Super nice ones, like these, maybe a hundred dollars. This one might go for two hundred because it’s for charity and it’s in really good condition.” Lifting the lid, I saw that the inside looked as though it had been burned many times.