Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Oh . . .” Mom looks around, then looks at my dad, who is sitting across the island from her with his chest moving in a way that shows he’s laughing silently. “I . . . never mind.” She shakes her head, waving her hand around like a lunatic. Feeling my cheeks getting hotter by the second, I bite my lip. I can’t believe she just said that—well, I can believe it, because she is my mom, after all, but seriously, why can’t my parents be normal?
“Well, now that you’ve made things totally awkward,” Libby says, moving past me toward the kitchen, “what do you need help with, Mom? Do you want me to find you a turkey baster?” My eyes slide closed. I can’t believe I thought for even a second it would be okay for Levi to come over for breakfast. I really should have known better. Opening my eyes back up, I find Levi watching me closely.
“I’m so sorry,” I mouth, and his face softens.
“It’s all good,” he mouths back, then turns when my mom asks him to help with something.
“Come here, kiddo,” Dad calls, patting the stool next to him, and I move slowly across the room to slide into the seat. “He’s not running for the hills, so I’d say you’re okay,” he says quietly against the side of my head, placing a kiss there, and I nod.
“So, Levi, you said your family lives in Connecticut. Are you planning on going to see them for Thanksgiving?” Mom asks.
“No.” He shakes his head while putting some butter into a pan on the stove. “I’m on call Thanksgiving. So I’ll be home.”
“You’re going to be alone on Thanksgiving?” Mom asks, and he nods, giving her a smile.
“Yeah, it comes with the job.”
“Don’t I know it,” Mom says quietly, looking at my dad with soft eyes filled with understanding.
“So what made you want to move to New York?” Dad asks, and Levi’s gaze goes to him.
“I got offered a promotion if I transferred to the NYPD. It was an offer I couldn’t turn down, so I packed up my house, put it on the market, and moved.”
“How long have you been a detective?” Mac asks, leaning with her elbows on the island next to me.
“Four years now, give or take a few months.”
“You’re young,” Dad states, sounding surprised.
“I’m younger than most of the guys doing my job, but before I was a detective I was working undercover for two years.”
“Really?” I question. His eyes come to me, and he nods once.
“That must have been scary,” Mom says, patting his shoulder.
“It wasn’t scary, but I didn’t enjoy living a lie or breathing the same air as the scumbags I was investigating.”
“I bet not,” Dad says, picking up the cup of coffee in front of him and taking a sip.
“Do you want coffee, honey?” Mom asks me when she sees me eyeing my dad’s cup.
“Yes, please.” I smile, and she moves to where I keep my cups and grabs one before heading for the coffeepot. When a phone rings, I look at Levi, who pulls his cell out of his back pocket.
“Sorry, I gotta take this,” he apologizes, putting it to his ear and walking out of the kitchen to the front door, which he opens and closes behind him.
“Kiddo.”
“Yeah.” I look at Dad.
“Coffee.” He nods to the counter, where a fresh cup of coffee is now sitting in front of me. Nodding back, I pick it up and take a sip, then turn to the door. When it opens, Levi comes in, running a hand through his hair and looking agitated.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, and his eyes come to me.
“I’m sorry, but I gotta go.” He shakes his head; then his eyes move to my mom and dad as he walks back toward the kitchen. “It was nice meeting you both.”
“You, too, sweetie, and if we don’t see you before, have a great Thanksgiving,” Mom says, giving him a hug.
“You, too,” he mutters as my dad stands and shakes his hand.
“Get my cell number from Fawn. If you ever need anything, just let me know,” Dad says, patting his shoulder before stepping back.
“Will do,” Levi agrees with a smile as both of my sisters hug him quickly before stepping back. Watching him, I wonder what I should do, then his eyes come back to me and he holds out his hand. “Walk me over to my place.”
“Um . . . sure,” I agree, sliding off my stool and taking his hand. “I’ll be right back,” I say over my shoulder as he pulls me toward the door.
“Sure, honey,” Mom mutters from the kitchen, but my eyes are locked with my dad’s, and I see something there that makes me feel uneasy.
“What happened?” I ask his back as he pulls me across the hall.