Good Nights by Heather Grace Stewart

Good Nights by Heather Grace Stewart

Author:Heather Grace Stewart [Stewart, Heather Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781988248035
Publisher: Graceful Publications
Published: 2018-07-06T04:00:00+00:00


Twenty-four

Tripp

Hannah is still asleep when my eyes open to the early morning light. I sit up slowly and watch her while she dreams. Her rosebud lips are pursed like a small, innocent newborn; her long eyelashes flutter like a butterfly’s wings in the breeze. She’s my Snow White, pale and pristine, asleep in a field of flowers.

OHoogahhhh!

OHooogahhhhhh!

Blimey! She snores. And loudly!

So, maybe not like a butterfly, or a princess. Definitely not silent.

I pull on my boxers and jeans, which I find on the floor among our pile of tossed clothes, then stand and listen to her for another moment, trying to recall what other noises I’ve come across in my life that are akin to this alarming new Hannah sound. I finally get it as I start down the stairs. She sounds like two teenagers with air horns, competing for attention at a football game. And the sound my first car made when it stalled at stop signs.

‘Hello, Master Luke.” Jughead squawks when he sees me, and then he chortles. I wouldn’t think he has any clue what the bloody names he’s calling us mean, except there’s that drawn-out guffaw he always makes at the end! We may have a maniacal dictator here, disguised in a macaw costume.

“No Jughead,” I say in a low whisper, with hopes that he didn’t already wake Hannah. “Don’t you know by now? My name is Tripp.”

“Get a grip, Tripp.” There’s that guffaw again.

“I don’t mind if I don’t. I’m perfectly content sitting on cloud nine right now.” I feed him a cracker, and then I start whistling an old tune Dad taught me. I’m not sure why it came to mind now, but I’m moved with the memory of sitting on Dad’s lap in his office, back when he was content. “There’ll be mango soon, buddy, hang in there. Gotta go make eggs for my gal.”

“You’re our only hope.”

I shake my head but can’t shake my smile. He’s somehow morphed from a cursing child macaw into a movie-obsessed tween. We need to get him a girlfriend—keep him occupied and out of trouble.

I head to the kitchen, noticing how bright and sunny it is in each room. The dining area looks completely different, and I can’t help but think about serving Hannah breakfast here soon. I feel a spring in my steps; what a beautiful day to be alive. I spread a little oil around the frying pan on the stove, then open the fridge to find that it’s nearly empty. Thankfully, two eggs remain, and I think there are about a half dozen of my crumpets left. I could show Hannah how to make them. We’ll have to grab a few supplies at the corner store this afternoon.

“Hi, you.”

Hannah strolls into the kitchen wearing just a white t-shirt and panties, her long legs and slender bum seducing me with every step. Her puffy eyes and tousled hair remind me of every single move we made under those sheets last night. I’ve heard of bad hair days, but I think this is what women call “a disaster.



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