Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
It needed to be broken. I couldn’t get sucked in again. So instead, I focused on building a snowman, preparing to ignore Beau completely.
I scowled at the silver car that drove past and the male driver before looking back down at the snowman I was making.
“What was that?”
I looked up to Beau, who was not focused on the snowman’s facial features as he had been previously, but laser focused on me.
“What was what?” I tried playing dumb, packing in snow.
“That look.”
“What look?” I continued with the snow, glancing up only to see Beau not buying my innocent act even a little.
“You know what look,” Beau rumbled. “I’ve never seen you give anyone, except me, a dirty look, and you just gave one to that car.”
I gulped at the weight of his perception. He’d been watching me, cataloguing me carefully over all this time, even when I thought he didn’t like me.
The thought warmed me despite the snow in my hands. Though the prospect of this conversation wasn’t exactly ideal.
I sighed out a breath, watching it cloud from my mouth. “Well, that guy is an assh—butthead,” I corrected, looking at Clara’s beanie-covered head. Not that butthead was something I wanted her repeating either.
Beau’s posture stiffened. “What did he do?”
At his words, I felt danger fill the air, my instincts telling me to lie.
“Nothing.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Not a big deal.”
The snow crunched as Beau rounded our large snowman with purpose, my heart rate spiking as he grasped on to my hips in a strangely intimate embrace, considering our current arrangement and current audience.
Clara, to her credit, didn’t seem to bat an eyelash, too busy with her snow sculpture. Almost every moment of the day, I admired how unusual and unique she was, so unlike children her age who typically required constant attention and direction. I normally would’ve been content to watch her do her thing, even more content with Beau’s hands on me, which were branding me through the cheap jacket I was wearing. If not for the rage radiating from him that made my lip quiver.
“What. Was. That?” Beau repeated.
“He has road rage,” I answered. “He tailgated me the whole drive home from the bakery with Clara the other day. I was going the speed limit. Apparently, he didn’t like that.”
“Why in the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Beau’s nostrils flexed.
I frowned. “Because I don’t think to tell you about every facet of my day, especially when it pertains to impatient men.”
Beau’s face went blank, then he let me go.
That was a good thing.
“I’ve got to go,” he said roughly. He walked to his daughter, laying a kiss on her head before whispering in her ear.
He didn’t look at me again; he simply got in his truck and drove off.
I didn’t let myself wonder where he went.
BEAU
Though I wanted to tear through the neighborhood, I kept to the speed limit. A couple below, even. Because we’d just had the first snow of the season, it was a family street, and there were likely to be a bunch of excited kids not paying attention to where the sidewalk ended underneath the blanket of snow.
I knew the owner of the car. It was a small town, a quiet street. And although I was not a friendly or talkative neighbor, I knew most everyone on the street.
Including the asshole in the silver car. His house stuck out compared to the rest. No, the majority of the homes did not have sparkling paint, flowers, or seasonal decorations like mine. Well, mine hadn’t been unique in any way before Hannah had changed things.
Now my house looked like it belonged on the street. It looked like a family lived there. There was a fucking snowman being built on the front lawn.
Before her, there were no snowmen. Clara had been too young, too sick. I was too fucking terrified of her catching a cold.
There was always a Christmas tree. But it was decorated with cheap decorations. Nothing handmade. Nothing colorful or warm. Now it looked like Father Christmas had taken a tinsel dump in our living room.
I didn’t hate it.
Not a single bit.
But even before Hannah’s arrival, our house was at least barely presentable. The grass was cut, repairs tended to when needed.
Gus Havlock’s home had three crappy cars in the drive. None of them drove, all in various states of disrepair. An old couch rotted on his porch, the grime covering his windows obscuring the ratty curtains.
The house had once had red-painted shutters, a thriving garden, and two rockers on the porch.
Before Gus got his divorce and lost custody of his kids. I wasn’t up on the town gossip, but I knew enough to know that his wife and kids were better off.
You’d think a man who couldn’t see his kids would do everything in his power to get them back, better himself. There was no world I could imagine where Clara woke up without me, where I wasn’t there every moment of her childhood. Especially after fearing she wouldn’t have a childhood.