Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“So, you love kindergarten?” I ask.
“Yes. I love it so much, Uncle Rush.”
“Here you go.” The young waitress places our breadsticks on the table. “What can I get you to drink?” she asks Crosby.
“I’ll have a root beer, please.”
“Sure, your food will be out soon.” She’s gone from the table as quickly as she came.
I dive in, placing a breadstick on one of the plates and cutting it up into more manageable pieces before pouring some of the pizza sauce onto the plate and placing it in front of Blakely. I then add two more to another plate, with some sauce, and hand it to Crosby.
“What? I don’t get mine cut up too. What kind of establishment is this?” she asks, humor lacing her tone.
“It’s ’cause he wants me to tell him he’s my favorite. I have lots of uncles, and they do nice things for me all the time.”
“I do it because I love you and because I know it will be easier for you to eat,” I tell my niece.
“And he wants to be my favorite.” She looks across the table at me. “Miss Greene will be your favorite if you cut hers as well.” She then looks back at her teacher and gives an exaggerated wink that causes Crosby to burst with laughter.
I still. Taking in the sound as it washes over me and memorizing the smile on her face. She’s beautiful, but when she smiles like that, she gives all new meaning to the word breathtaking.
“I don’t know,” Crosby says, pretending to ponder the idea. “Do I want to be his favorite?” she asks Blakely.
“Sure, but I want them all to be my favorite. Do you know my other uncles?”
“No, just your daddy,” I smile at her. “He fixed my car, and I met him at orientation, remember?”
She nods. “He’s real good at that kind of stuff. I like going to work with him, but that usually means I have to wear my wiener pants, and I don’t much like that.”
Crosby’s mouth falls open, and her wide eyes find mine. I was in the middle of taking a drink, and I have to beat on my chest as I sputter and cough as it goes down the wrong pipe. “They’re jeans,” I correct my niece.
“Yeah, those. They make me look like I have a wiener. Girls don’t have wieners, do they, Miss Greene?”
“Um, no. No, they don’t,” Crosby says, a slight blush coating her cheeks.
“Eat your breadstick,” I tell my niece, holding back my laughter. Declan and Kennedy have their hands full with this one.
Blakely shoves a bite of breadstick covered in pizza sauce into her mouth, mumbling something about wieners. My eyes find Crosby’s, and she, too, is holding back her laughter.
Thankfully, both of the pizzas arrive, and we all dive in. Blakely tells us more about kindergarten, things I’m sure Crosby is already privy to, but she gives my niece her full attention, riddled with smiles and words of encouragement. In just one dinner, I can already tell she is an amazing teacher. She has patience, and there’s a kindness inside her, a light that shines bright. It lights up her eyes when she talks and listens to Blakely.
“Wipe your mouth, squirt.” I reach over and hand Blakely a napkin, but Crosby is already all over it. She helps her wipe her mouth.
“Thanks, Miss Greene. Wait, do you have a real name?” Blakely asks her.
“Miss Greene is her real name,” I tell her.
“No. I mean, like, I’m Blakely and you’re Uncle Rushton. What’s your real name?” Blakely tilts her head to the side as she looks at Crosby with a question in her eyes.
“Greene is my last name,” Crosby explains. “My first name is Crosby, but you can’t call me that while we’re in school.”
“Why not?” Blakely asks.
“It’s respect, kiddo.” I’m not sure how I’m going to explain what that means to a five-year-old. Maybe I should just tell her to ask her parents. I’ll toss this one back on Declan and Kennedy.
“Oh, my mommy said respect is when you’re nice to people.”
Crosby smiles at my niece and, to my surprise, places her arm around her shoulders and hugs her to her side. “Your mommy is right. Using last names is also professional, and being your teacher is my job, so we have to stay professional while at school.”
“Okay, but when I see you not at school, do I call you Miss Crosby?” she asks.
A light chuckle falls from Crosby’s lips. “No, sweetie. If we’re not at the school or at a function for the school, you can just call me Crosby.”
“Okay, Crosby,” Blakely says, shoving another bite of pizza into her mouth.
Talking dies down after that while we all dive into our dinner. By the time we’re all claiming to be full, we have half of the meat lovers and over half of the pepperoni left to take home.