Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I couldn’t fault him, though.
He and my mom had always been tight.
Why would you want to live on this planet without your other half?
Sure, he could’ve stayed for me.
He should’ve stayed for me.
But my dad and mom had always been so close. They worked out together. They went to bed together at the same time every night. They showered together. They went to doctor appointments together. They worked together.
Literally, there was never a moment in time that my mother was there without my dad near.
“Mama, we’re out of apples.”
I stopped when a tiny redhead ran in front of me and snatched an apple off the display to my right.
The apples all started to go.
Every last one of them.
They all rolled off the display and then hit the floor at the little girl’s and my feet.
She looked at me, eyes super wide, and said, “Oh, shit.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
Kids had always been a soft spot for me.
Adults? I could take them or leave them.
But kids? They were so fucking innocent.
It was actually freeing to be in a kid’s presence. There were no pretenses, no false platitudes. No anger or hidden agendas.
They were just kids.
“Oh my god, Wendy!” the redhead groaned as she started to pick up apples.
“Whoopsie!” Wendy, the redhead’s little redhead, bent down and grabbed up several. “Sorry, Constance!”
“What have I told you about calling me by my first name?” Constance growled. “You’re my baby girl forever, remember?”
When Wendy stood up, two of her four apples fell to the floor again.
I placed my basket next to the display case and started loading the apples into it.
I’d needed several anyway.
An apple a day kept the doctor away.
Or, more importantly, it kept me healthy so I didn’t have to go to any doctors ever fucking again.
If I never saw another, it’d be too soon.
Even last month when I’d caught my arm on a rusty nail and ripped it open, I’d sewn it shut myself. The thought of having to go to a doctor literally made me want to puke.
“Oh, good idea,” Wendy said. “This is a perfect solution.”
My lips quirked as we loaded my basket up with way more than I ever intended to buy.
“You’ll have to wash these now, though.”
“Baby,” Constance said warily. “I’m sure the man isn’t getting all of those. He’s probably just using the basket to get them off the floor and put them back on the stack.”
“I’m getting some,” I admitted. “But not thirty. I can’t go through them that fast.”
“You look like you could eat thirty, Mr. Big Guy,” Wendy admitted.
“Wendy,” Constance growled.
I started placing the apples in the basket back onto the display case.
“It’s Odin,” I shared.
“Okay, Mr. Odin.” She placed both of her hands on her hips. “How many of these bad boys do you want?”
Constance quietly stacked the apples that’d fallen a little farther out, keeping an eye on me and her child like she was ready to throw herself between her child and danger.
“I’ll take seven,” I said.
We worked in silence for a few minutes until the apples were once again stacked high.
“This is a stupid idea.” Wendy shook her head as she looked at the tower.
“Agreed,” I said as I stood up with my eight apples instead of seven. “Nice to meet you, Wendy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Odin.”
I winked at her, then stepped back.
Constance glared at me.
Her gaze went from my face to my cut to her child, and she stepped in between us.
“If I was going to hurt her,” I said quietly, “I’d have done it already.”
Constance’s jaw firmed and her chin raised.
I wondered if it really was the club vest.
That was the only thing that changed in between her talking my ear off and her silence.
“You scared of me?”
She scoffed. “Of course not.”
But her gaze went to the cut again, and she stiffened impossibly more.
Taking that as my sign to leave, I stepped around her to the next area.
But I ran into the two an aisle later in the bread aisle.
“What do you think?” Wendy asked me. “Should we get stupid wheat bread with nine whole grains? Or this awesome white bread with a house on it?”
I eyed the wheat bread that I usually bought with nine grains, then the white bread.
The wave of nostalgia for my mom’s sandwiches hit me so hard that I picked up the white bread instead of the wheat.
“See, Mom!” Wendy cried. “Even he buys the house bread!”
Constance glared at me like I’d just committed a crime. “Of course he’d choose the bad stuff.” Under her breath she replied with, “Because he’s bad.”
I didn’t comment, then grabbed the nine-grain as well that I would normally eat and tossed it into my basket.
The next aisle I caught them on was the pasta aisle.
“We could get macaroni like this.” Wendy held up the box.