Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
The hallway on her floor isn’t much better. Chipped paint, more stained tile, and a suspicious smear of fudge brown have me wrinkling my nose by the time I reach Elly’s place. I mean, I’ve lived in worse buildings, but I guess I’m becoming a snob in my old age.
Or maybe it’s easier to admit how unpleasant this place is because I know neither I nor anyone I love is going to be forced to keep living here.
When you’re in a place like this with no way out…
Well, then you try to make the best of it, to find the silver linings wherever you can. Elly’s door is certainly solid, and that’s something. Nothing scarier than a flimsy door in a sketchy building.
I knock and call out, “Hey, it’s me, sorry I’m late,” a little shocked that it’s so quiet inside. I was expecting the clattering of pots and pans being shoved into boxes, Elly calling out orders to the movers I ordered to help her finish up the packing, maybe Mimi protesting that all the bustle is interfering with her pizza-eating enjoyment.
Instead, there’s just a faint strain of vintage New Orleans blues—God, I hope Elly loves a blues club as much as I do—and Elly’s sweet voice calling, “Be right there, just a sec!”
A moment later, the door opens to reveal Elly, gorgeous in jeans and a faded Turkey Trot Fun Run T-shirt and no makeup, smiling up at me like she can’t believe it’s me.
But…in a good way.
“Movers?” she asks, motioning me inside. “Two of them? Really? For my tiny, one-bedroom apartment?”
I slip past her in the narrow entry, glancing around at what I can see of the kitchen from this angle. A few neatly labeled boxes sit on the floor by the stove, with a pile of gray moving blankets on top. Glancing back over my shoulder, I ask, “They aren’t finished already, are they?”
“No,” Elly says with a laugh, “but not far from it. They’re all done with the kitchen and living room and are finishing up with Mimi’s toys.”
“But don’t worry, I told my stuffed animals what was happening, so they wouldn’t be scared and think they were being given away to the Salvation Army,” calls a little voice from around the corner.
I step out of the entry to see Mimi sitting cross-legged in the middle of the small kitchen island, a slice of pizza in one hand and a handful of lettuce in the other.
“She insists on eating salad with her fingers,” Elly says, noticing the direction of my glance. “I’ve tried to reason with her, but she says you can’t trust lettuce on a fork not to hurt your mouth.”
“I poked myself really hard one time,” Mimi explains, popping the lettuce between her lips and adding as she chews, “This is way better.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you little beastie,” Elly says, squeezing Mimi’s knee as she moves past her toward the open pizza box on the counter, making Mimi giggle. With her dark curls pulled up in a ponytail, she looks more like her mama. They have matching, heart-shaped faces and a stubborn little chin that’s totally fucking cute.
I’ve never thought much about a person’s chin before, but with Elly…
Well, I find all her parts worthy of admiration. Her lips are especially beautiful—full, plush, and so damned responsive.
Against my will, my thoughts go back to that kiss, our first kiss as husband and wife, our first kiss ever. I’ve been doing my best not to think about it too much. About how incredible it was or how much I want to kiss her again…
“How many slices?” Elly asks, loading up a plate. “I gave you a solid serving of salad already.” She glances back at me with a teasing grin, “Don’t worry. You’ll be allowed to use a fork.”
“Are you sure?” I tease, casting Mimi a worried look. “I wouldn’t want to go against the customs of your people.”
Mimi giggles. “You’re silly. Mama, Gee talks silly and does sarcasm. Like you.”
“He does,” Elly says, handing me a plate with three slices and a hefty portion of greens before I can assure her that I can fetch my food myself. “It’s one of the things I like about him.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I murmur, accepting the food. “I appreciate that.”
“No one calls Mama, ma’am,” Mimi informs me as I settle into a bar chair on the other side of the island. She spins to face me, another piece of lettuce in hand. “She’s just Elly. Or sometimes, Eloise, if people don’t know her very well. She thinks Eloise makes her sound like she’s a grandma, but I like it.”
“Me, too,” I say, meeting Elly’s gaze across the kitchen. “Aren’t you going to eat, Eloise? Who is clearly not even close to a grandma?”
She laughs and drains the last of her iced tea. “Thanks, but I already had three slices. And I’ll embrace Eloise someday. I just don’t feel like I have my act together enough to pull off a three-syllable name. You want a beer? I think I may have one. I usually don’t on weeknights, but packing up your entire house in a day feels like a beer on Monday kind of occasion.”