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)
Not that the latter would ever know. Could ever know.
Her divorce was proceeding well, based on what Marty could tell me without violating attorney-client privilege. I wouldn’t ask Hannah. Couldn’t.
The holiday season had helped distract me from her—if such a thing were possible. At the very least, I was kept busy. The restaurant had needed me for longer hours. And when I wasn’t working, I had spent time with Clara, attending holiday events, baking cookies, and preparing for our trip to New York.
Hannah was there, my awareness of her making it hard to concentrate on decorating fucking gingerbread men.
I had been treating her with more care, knowing what she was going through. Not that I should’ve had to know what she was going through to treat her with care.
I dreamed about her. Thought about her as I pumped my cock after reading the spicy scenes in the books she was also reading. The smell of her seemed to seep onto my clothes. As did the image of her flushed cheeks when our eyes caught. Her smile. The way she’d let out a soft moan of delight while eating the pasta I’d made from scratch.
She had become less timid with me. Lingered when we were alone, met my eyes, asked questions. Complimented me on my cooking.
“You should do a cookbook or something,” she’d told me the other night.
I focused on the dishes, not the way her soft, husky voice caressed my fucking cock.
“Market is too saturated,” I grunted. “Too much work. Too much time away from Clara.”
I didn’t add that I’d already been approached. Or that I’d been in the process of signing contracts when Clara was diagnosed.
“Well, I’m here,” she murmured. “For Clara.”
My hands froze, hovering over the pot I’d been washing. It was a simple statement, but it opened the door to a fantasy. Of Hannah. Being there. For Clara. For me. Always.
I cleared my throat, aggressively scrubbing the pot.
“Not for much longer.” My response was louder and harsher than necessary.
Hannah stayed silent.
It had been a few months since we’d mentioned her leaving while Clara was around. But I needed to say it out loud to bring me back to reality.
Christmas without her had been hard enough. Clara was healthy, elated by the presents she’d gotten, including the ones left by Hannah. She was still riding on the high of being in New York with Hannah, the Natural History Museum, and Cole’s company.
But the excitement of that trip, coupled with our quiet, empty house, had been jarring for me. Luckily, Clara was too enamored with the magic of Christmas to be too upset.
On Christmas morning, she FaceTimed Hannah as soon as she woke up, keeping her on the phone as she opened all her presents.
She again requested to speak to her at Calliope and Elliot’s—where our modest Christmas dinner was held.
And Clara had run into her arms a few days later, when she arrived home.
I’d been jealous. Jealous of my five-year-old daughter because she was able to hug Hannah, to show her affection without second thought. She’d claimed Hannah as hers because it was natural. It was meant to be.
That’s why it felt like having boundaries with Hannah was going against nature. It was wrong, not being able to brush hair from her face, kiss the spot on her collarbone dusted with freckles. To not fuck her until she screamed my name, taste her on my tongue.
My restraint was tested, almost entirely decimated at Calliope and Elliot’s wedding.
Hannah had been invited—not as a nanny, but as a guest. She’d been nervous about going, so I watched her. I knew she struggled to navigate large gatherings.
Fuck, before she arrived, I hadn’t attended those gatherings myself. Yet my brother was marrying Calliope Derrick, and apparently, that came with a whole brood of families.
Hannah enjoyed everyone’s company, greatly valuing her friendship with Lori. I also knew she felt on the outside, felt more comfortable with the children than the women.
I didn’t know a whole lot about her past, but she’d alluded to a lot when she’d told me about her piece of shit ex-husband. She had struggled, hadn’t been treated how she deserved. And she’d been left with plenty of scars that didn’t show on her creamy, perfect skin.
Kindness was a novelty to her. Aside from Cole, I didn’t think she’d been treated with it.
The thought made me want to breathe fucking fire. Especially because I’d been one of the people who hadn’t treated her the way she deserved.
I’d been planning on being delicate with her the day of the wedding. To try to help soothe her nerves.
Even though my own nervous system had been going fucking haywire. Clara… in an enclosed, indoor space with a fuck of a lot of people.
Again, she had been cleared by her doctor. Had received a second opinion. And a third, at Calliope’s behest.