Page 27 of Ugly Duckling
Though, I had found her off switch.
She was in love with The Lorax, and would sit still for a solid one hour and twenty-six minutes if I put it on for her.
That was usually what I did.
I’d put The Lorax on at night right before bed, giving me enough time to shower, feed her, shower her, do some laundry and anything else I needed to get done around the house without a tornado of terror running around behind me undoing it all.
I didn’t rush through my shower.
I basked in the warmth, letting the heat of the water soothe my aching muscles.
I wouldn’t say that run was hard, per se, but it wasn’t easy, either.
In fact, now that I wasn’t running, and the adrenaline was winding down, I was getting more tired by the second.
Though, it would also help to be able to eat.
I’d shared three-quarters of my waffle and half the spaghetti with my bottomless pit of a kid.
I’d never seen a kid eat as much as her.
Jett had been a boy, and twice as big as her, but Lottie could out-eat him twofold.
By the time I got out, I could hear conversation downstairs, letting me know that Sutton was done with her shower.
I got dressed in loose sweats and a t-shirt, stuffed my feet into socks, and headed downstairs.
When I got there it was to see Webber at my kitchen island, cooking.
I groaned. “I sure hope that you’re making enough for me, too.”
“It is your house. It only seems right,” Webber offered. “Did you know that Sutton here is moving to Dallas?”
My brows rose. “You are?”
She flushed. “I’m getting away from the ex. He can have that town. I’m spending the weekend searching for apartments.”
“I told her she should stay here.” Webber raised his brows at me.
This interfering big bastard.
“Oh, no.” Sutton shook her head while blurting, “I’ll find one here.”
“I told her that she would find a shit apartment here if she was looking for something in her price range.”
“What’s your price range?” I asked as I walked up to the counter and snatched a piece of bacon off the plate.
“Fifteen hundred is max. I’d like to keep it around twelve.” She sighed. “I have a job, and I can work as much as I want to, but usually my training schedule doesn’t really allot me the time that I would need to really hold down a nine-to-five.”
“Ask her what she does,” Webber suggested.
“The last time that I checked, you were in college and working at a nail salon.” I offered up what I knew.
“I’m still doing that. Though, it’s a little bit different now,” she admitted.
“Different how?” I wondered.
“Now, I own a mobile nail salon. I work on mostly dead customers.”
