Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
I laugh, because I can’t help it. I’ve already come to terms with the fact my boyfriend is a Grade-A jerk. Most of the time, I’m not even mad about it. It is actually pretty charming, in a screwed-up way.
“I can’t leave Mom with both kids,” I say under my breath, a trickle of panic seeping into my heart. Not that I don’t trust my mother, but she’s come a long way in a very short period of time, and I don’t want her to feel overwhelmed by taking care of two kids.
“Yeah, you’re right.” His hand brushes my ass so deliberately it is almost comical, as he moves to the stove and picks a piece of juicy meat, crushing it between his white teeth and chewing.
Just as he says it, Emilia and Rosie walk into my kitchen, holding brown bags with fresh food peeking from their edges.
“Hey, everyone!” Emilia greets, while Rosie opts for a “You guys, turn on the air-con before I melt on your floor. Aren’t these new tiles? Yeah, turn that thing on. There are too many people in this room.”
“What are you doing here?” My eyes are wide. In the past year, Emilia, Melody, and Rosie have become great friends of mine. And although Melody is the older wolf in the pack—the one I turn to when Luna drives me mad and Theo is acting crazy—the two LeBlanc sisters are the two female BFFs I never thought I would have.
“We’re giving you a day off. You deserve it.” Emilia nudges me away with her butt, winking playfully. I don’t argue with that, even though I don’t feel like I should take a break. I love my life. Every morning, I take Theo and Luna to school and go to the beach and teach people how to surf. In the afternoons, before I pick them up, I have lunch with my hot boyfriend, then we have sex before we pick up the kids. Then he cooks and rubs my feet in front of Netflix after dinner. I don’t deserve a vacation. I’m living it.
“But I…”
“Don’t argue, Tide.” Trent grabs my wrist, tugging me into his hard body. Even now, after a year of living together, I melt a little at that gesture. Like that morning in the alleyway never changed us. Like I am still a love-struck puppy with a bad case of unreciprocated love.
He leads me outside, the pan still sizzling behind me, but I can already hear Rosie lowering the fire on the stove and Emilia cracking open a bottle of wine.
“What’s happening?” I ask Trent when we go out to the porch—ocean view—on the promenade.
“I’m not sure, but I think I’m losing my balls in the process.” He grimaces.
I laugh. “What? Why?”
“Because”—he opens the door and red light pours in, and I am standing in front of nature in its rarest beauty—“the sunset has never looked so fucking amazing, and if we could have one perfect moment, I want it to be this one.”
“That’s why you asked Rosie and Emilia to come here?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“Nope.” He turns to face me, brushing his thumb over my cheek. His eyes are light, his soul is dark, and everything else about what he gives me is full of colors. “I called them here in case you say yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes to my crazy-ass idea.” He kneels down on one knee, in front of the sunset, with cyclists and joggers and couples passing by us, and produces something from his pocket. He is still wearing his workout gear from taking Luna and Theo to the park, and that just makes him look even sexier. What’s insane about this—other than the fact we’ve never talked about it, not even once—is that I’m not nervous in any way. Just excited. We already feel like a married couple, and I say that in the best, non-boring way possible. He is stability and love. Security and confidence.
I’m his tide, and he’s my anchor. Or maybe the sand itself.
“Edie Van Der Zee, I want to dip my toes in the waves you make every single day for the rest of my miserable life. I want to fuck you—just you, only you, no one else—and a lot. Every. Single. Day. I want to live with you. I want to parade that fucked-up thing we have that keeps people raising eyebrows and thinking I’m a cradle-snatching douchebag, because fuck ’em, they’ll never have what we have. Will you marry me? I don’t ask for a lot. Not for kids, not for dinner, not for anything to be done in the house. I don’t ask you for anything other than what you’re willing to give me.”
Luna peeks from the door, smiling. I turn my body to her, smiling. I expect her to sign me something. Something like “aw, gross,” or “Daddy is being silly again”. But she doesn’t.