BOOK 1
Welcome to the re-written version of 'MAXINE & STONE'
If this is your first time reading, welcome. If you've come back, hello again.
Get ready for a warm-hearted, emotional and happy ending story of a father and his daughter.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Third Person.
George McCoy was angry, no, furious.
His eyes darkened at the articles flooding the news. He slammed his phone down on the wooden desk in his office, shaking the paperwork and pictures of friends and family, including a photo of him and his best friend Alex when they were just young boys.
His forehead muscles strained. How could Alex not tell him? His best friend with whom he shared everything with.
Even if it was something you usually don't tell your friends, such as when he was so intoxicated that he believed the toilet was the dishwasher.
Needless to say, Alex was disgusted, but that's what they did. They shared everything.
Apparently, everything but anonymous little girls that may be his daughter. Who was George kidding? That was his daughter. They were an identical match.
George cancelled all his client meetings and stormed out of his barrister's office, heading towards the Stone Estate.
MAXINE & STONE
Alexander Stone.
After spreading Maxine's floor with plastic sheets, I carried two buckets of paint to her room.
She wanted a pink, princess bedroom and whatever my princess wants, she'll get.
"Are you ready, baby girl?" I settled the paints and looked down at my daughter, who wore the cutest overalls.
Her overalls were white and had pockets, just like mine. It was adorable. We were matching.
She filled her pockets with paintbrushes, Cookie and some actual cookies. I laughed. Crazy girl.
Under her overalls, she wore a pink shirt, and I tied her curly hair into two ponytails. It was the only hairstyle I knew how to do...for now.
"M' ready, Daddy!" She raised her paintbrush in the air.
"Let's get to it, bean," I ruffled her hair and then dipped my roller into some pastel pink paint.
Maxine dipped her little paintbrush and started splatting it against the walls.
I scrunched my nose, "Sweetheart, we're painting, not splatting."
Maxine narrowed her eyes and pointed her paintbrush at me. I pressed my eyes shut as I felt paint landing on my nose and upper lip.
