Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 20030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
They all look like little angels. It makes me wish I could adopt all of them, and I have to consciously remind myself that I am not their Messiah, and I don't have to be. It may not seem evident at times, but God has a plan for all of us...never mind if those plans are not what you expected.
It's just a matter of waiting. A matter of walking by faith, and not by sight. In my case, I had to wait for three years. Just praying and fasting and talking to all the parents I know. Three years of waiting until He's finally answered my prayer, and today is His plan coming to fruition.
I can feel it in my bones.
Something special's about to happen, with my steps seemingly drawn by some invisible force until I find myself standing just a few inches away from a young boy seated alone in one corner, legs tucked under him, his dark head bent over a book that seems too big for his tiny hands.
My precious baby.
I'm guessing he's five, maybe six years old. But it's as if he's an old soul trapped in a little boy's body, with how he seems so peaceful in his solitude. While all the other kids are running around and acting exactly their age, this boy remains focused completely on the book he's reading, and...ah.
I take a step forward to peek at what he's reading, and my heart breaks. It's an illustrated edition of select stories from the Bible, and the one he's reading is about Moses as a baby, who was placed in a basket to escape the evil pharaoh.
Isn't he too young to see himself in Moses' story? Or do losing their parents so early in life make children inevitably mature beyond their years?
The more I look at him, the more my heart aches.
But when I take another step forward...
That's when I realize I'm not the only one drawn to this boy.
Another prospective parent is standing right next to me, and when I slowly lift my gaze, startlingly blue eyes capture mine, and I barely manage to keep myself from gasping.
It seems so embarrassingly silly to be this...this dazzled at my age, but I can't help it.
He's the most beautiful man I've ever seen, with his tousled blond locks and chiseled features. He's almost perfect, really...if not for the coldly calculating light in his icy blue eyes.
Brrrr.
The air between us crackles with something I don't yet have the courage to label. He holds my gaze for one more moment...before slowly turning his gaze to the boy, and that's when it hits me.
A thought so impossibly crazy...
That it can only be one or two things.
Either I've truly lost my mind...or it's one of those things that remind you how His thoughts are higher than our thoughts, and His ways, higher than our ways.
But...I just don't know, God.
I cast one last look at the boy. My heart says he's the one I've been looking for, but because I also remember that the human heart can be a terribly deceitful and desperately sick thing...
Please help me understand.
My chest aches as I force myself to turn away.
Please, God.
I wander around aimlessly until my feet take me to a narrow hallway that leads to a seating area facing the garden. I sit down, my heart unsettled, my stomach cramping for reasons I still can't explain.
I'm not sure how much time has passed when a shadow falls over me, and the first thing I see is a pair of handmade Italian shoes.
Oh.
My gaze slowly moves up.
Pinstriped suit, custom-tailored, and also handmade, natch.
And finally...
It's the same icy blue eyes earlier, and my heart starts pounding against my chest.
I trust You, God. Really. But...really?
Mr. Almost Perfect folds his length in the seat opposite mine, his every move elegantly...precise. I didn't even know that was possible, to be honest. But that's exactly how he moves. Maybe how he even thinks. Everything about him is just so elegantly precise, and when he finally speaks—
"How do you feel about a joint adoption?"
Well, the way he makes my jaw drop is so...elegantly precise, too.
Chapter One
I FEEL LIKE I HAVE the worst hangover in the history of hangovers as I step out of the cab and head up the front steps of one of San Antonio's fanciest skyscrapers. The morning sun beats down mercilessly, making my yellow sundress cling to my skin and my oversized sunglasses fog up the moment I hit the air conditioning.
I've never been a morning person, and it's even worse today, considering I stayed up until the wee hours researching Wynd Sullivan like my life depended on it. My laptop screen had burned my retinas as I scrolled through article after article, my lola's gold hoops catching the blue light every time I shook my head in disbelief.