Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
I take a hot shower, washing away the memory, the feeling, or trying to. It’s difficult when, even after brushing my teeth, I’m sure I can still feel and taste her lips.
***
The next morning, the three of us sit around the breakfast table. Emery is telling Callie a story about a pumpkin who secretly wants to be a pineapple. Callie smiles, listening, seeming genuinely interested, attuned to my daughter’s unique take on the world. When Emery offers to clear up breakfast, Callie says, “That’s very considerate and polite, Emery. Thank you.”
Emery carries dishes into the kitchen. She’s independent and capable. As I watch her, I swell with pride. It makes me think about those same thoughts I had yesterday about family and belonging. When Callie looks at me, it’s like there’s a film over her eyes, a layer of purposeful distance. She couldn’t make it any clearer if she tried. She doesn’t want to reference or talk about last night.
“What are your plans for the day?” I ask.
“I’m going to take Emery to the library. Then I thought I’d do some housework.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her.
She shrugs. “I really don’t mind. I like to stay busy. Then maybe I’ll do some reading.”
“More romance?” I smirk.
She bites down on her bottom lip, causing heat to pool in my groin. Her eyes flit left and right, up and down. They go anywhere except me. It’s like she can’t look at me. She doesn’t want to acknowledge what happened. Or maybe she thinks her job is in danger. I wish I could explain why I was so suspicious yesterday, the ideas Wes put into my head.
“No,” she says after a long pause. “I’ve gone off romance. It’s not my thing anymore. I’m reading a non-fiction book. A biography.”
“About anybody interesting?”
“No, not really.”
She’s being standoffish. It’s not like I can blame her, but that doesn’t mean it’s painless. I feel like a jackass the more I talk. She clearly doesn’t want to talk to me. The kiss was also a mistake. I’m still not sure who initiated it. It was almost like it just happened. Like it was meant to be.
I close my eyes and massage the bridge of my nose.
“Daddy, why so glum, chum?”
I open my eyes to find my bundle of joy grinning at me. “You sound funny when you say that.”
She giggles, sliding into my lap and throwing her arms around me. “You look funny when you do this, Daddy.” She closes her eyes tight and rubs her nose, just like I was doing, but when she does it, it’s cute. And I’m pretty sure she’s not contemplating just how complicated and difficult life can be sometimes.
Even so, she makes me laugh. She can always make me laugh.
“Can I load the dishwasher?” she asks, hopping down.
“I don’t know…” I grin over at Callie. “You better ask the nanny.”
“Callie’s not the nanny,” Emery says. “She’s my friend!”
Callie smiles tightly. “Sure you can.” When Emery’s out of earshot, Callie mutters, “Sorry.”
“Why would you say sorry?” I ask quietly.
Callie twists her hair around her finger. Again, she’s wearing another dress, which is clearly just her style, light and frilly. But still, there’s that ugly taunting in my mind, Wes playing with my head, telling me that everything Callie says and does is designed to reel me in. It might seem ridiculous if it wasn’t working so damn well.
“Callie?”
“I don’t want to overstep my boundaries,” she murmurs. “If you want, I can tell Emery that I am the nanny.”
“Is that what you want?” I counter. “To keep things professional—distant?”
She shrugs. “It’s the right thing, isn’t it? What if I’m not ar—”
“Are you planning on quitting?” I cut in.
“No,” she says. “I just thought, you know…”
“What?”
She tilts her head at me. It’s clear she’s referencing something, the kiss, maybe. I lean forward, look deeply into her eyes. “Nothing has happened that makes any of this necessary. You’re doing one hell of a job.”
“Thank you,” she says, still twisting her hair around her finger. There’s something so tempting and attractive about it. It makes me want to touch her hand and say, Hey, relax, it was just our first kiss. It’s no big deal. There are many more where that came from.
She doesn’t seem like she’s trying to entrap me, trick me, any of that crap.
After saying goodbye, I drive into the city. Wes calls me to ask if I want to meet for lunch. Toward the end of the call, he says, “Have you won the lottery?”
“What? No. Why?”
“You sound unusually upbeat.”
“Does that mean that normally I’m miserable?” I try to laugh, but I know I can’t lie to Wes. Never again.
“Has something happened?”
“You’re in the wrong line of work. We need to get you a badge.”
“Is that a yes?”
“What’s your obsession with this, Wes?”