The Summer I Turned Pretty Wallpaper Jeremiah Novels & Stories

Elara walked into the kindergarten activity room with Merida, taking in the decorations of colorful streamers and paper crafts. The sweet scent of baking filled the air. She immediately spotted Leonard standing by the window. Today, he wore a light linen shirt, his posture upright and composed, somehow separated from the noisy environment around him by an invisible barrier. Beside him, Xavier stood quietly, clutching his ever-present electronic reader, his large eyes warily observing the surroundings. "Granduncle Leonard! Xavier!" Merida flew over like a happy little bird.

He still doesn’t turn around. When she realizes he won’t be replying back she leaves, giving me one last side eye glare. He turns around finally and sees me waving my hand in front of my face trying to get her strong perfume away from me. He holds back a laugh, “I’m guessing the Alpha title comes with a lot of fans,” I say walking over to the table to grab my contract. “The title definitely comes with a lot. Not all of which is wanted,” he sighs and grabs one of the bags and a shoe box and hands them to me. “You can change over there,” he points to the corner that has those fabric moving walls like the hospitals do. “Excuse me? Change? Why am I changing?” I ask him clearly confused. He lifts

He walks over to one of the walls and reaches out to touch one of the drawings, his fingertips brushing over the faded crayon lines so gently it’s like he’s afraid it might crumble under his touch. It’s a stick-figure family holding hands under a bright yellow sun, three people standing in a row with the mom in the middle and two boys on either side, and there’s no dad anywhere in the picture. My phone buzzes in my pocket, loud and sudden in the quiet room, and I jump at the sound. Jeremy doesn’t turn around, doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps staring at the drawing like he’s lost somewhere in the past. I pull my phone out and see Reina’s name flashing across the screen for what feels like t

We’ll see who the better parent is. Jeremiah

I turn around to walk off to my room when I hear him mutter. “Layers are more fun. It’s like unwrapping a present.” Such a hornball. We didn’t do much of anything all weekend and I barely left my room, let alone the packhouse. It was just easier than getting the third degree for trying to leave. I kept my space from the guys. The longer Jeremiah was gone the more irritated I got at being a prisoner, and they didn’t deserve that wrath.

I said to Jeremiah and immediately go to the location. *** I lay down, grimacing in pain. My legs felt like they were about to fall off after walking quite a distance to check the location and progress of the real estate project we were working on. I had spent the whole day with pencils and sketching tools, and now I had to hand them over to Ben. But, later. I didn't want to leave the room yet. Besides, he was probably with that woman. She seemed unwilling to let Ben go anywhere. The door opened. Jeremiah came in with a tray containing a glass of milk and vitamins as usual, as well as essential oils. He sat on the edge of the bed, took my feet, and rubbed oil on them.

4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} BACK TO PRESENT. "Awwn.... You two have quite an history" Jemimah my 16-year-old daughter said. Jeremiah chuckled "What if you didn't run after him that day mom? What would have happened?" Jeremiah asked. I turned to my husband whose head was currently on my laps.

She ran a finger down his chest, but every touch made him feel irritated. “I’m not in the mood,” he muttered, stepping past her. She followed him, heels clicking annoyingly loud. “Oh, come on, baby. You said you wanted a distraction…” “I changed my mind.” “You sure?” she whispered, pressing herself against his back. “Because I can make you forget all about...her…” That was it. Jeremiah turned around and pushed her off—not hard, just enough to get space. But she lost her balance, and crashed to the floor dramatically.

She wore a soft linen tunic—cream, loose—her hair free, sensing the shift but not the source. Downstairs, Jeremiah lounged in the garage, whiskey in hand, his patched flannel stretched tight over his frame. He didn’t know Sal had flipped—thought Rosa was his only leak—but the air felt wrong, Mama’s cold stare from earlier lingering. He shrugged it off, sipping slow, plotting his next smuggling run.