Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
My fingers find his, and I give his hand a little squeeze. “I like it.”
His posture relaxes. Was he worried about his family embarrassing me? I don’t ever want him thinking that I don’t care for his big, overbearing family. “I like them too.”
“I like you,” he murmurs right before he brushes a kiss across my lips.
“No making out like horny teenagers in my house,” Mr. Kringle calls.
Micah pulls away from our kiss and glares in his father’s direction. “Dad! Don’t use that word in front of my daughter.”
He beams down at her. “She doesn’t know what any of it means, do you, princess?”
After a flurry of pictures from Mrs. Kringle, it’s finally time to leave.
“Maybe she should come with us,” I tell Micah when I see the way he’s looking at Abby. He’s clearly torn about leaving her behind. He leaves her under my care all the time but I’m usually hanging out in the office with him or at home with him. Yeah, he’s busy handling work or dealing with household responsibilities, but she’s always nearby.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Kringle insists. “I was promised a night with my granddaughter, and I’m going to take advantage of it. You can see her again in a few hours.”
“She’ll be fine, Micah,” Mrs. Kringle says, ushering us toward the door. The others have already left but it’s different for Micah. Half of his heart is staying behind.
I tug on his hand, pulling him onto the porch. It’s hard for me too. But he’ll have to trust her with them eventually. After all, I want a lot more dates with my man in the future.
“OK, but call me if she gets upset or spits up. Sometimes, she does this thing where she starts to spit up and you think it’s over but then it keeps coming. If that happens, her tummy gets—”
Mrs. Kringle closes the door in his face, ending his lecture.
He scowls at the door for a moment before turning his attention to me. “You think they’ll call?”
“They’ll call you if there’s a problem,” I reassure him. I press a kiss to his lips to distract him. I meant for it to be a quick, chaste peck. But the moment our lips connect, Micah is deepening the kiss. He runs his tongue along my bottom lip, nipping until I give him access. His tongue explores my mouth, stroking gently until suddenly he’s stopping.
Mr. Kringle is standing there with Abby in his arms. “You’re giving the neighbors a show.”
“We don’t have neighbors,” Micah protests.
“You still can’t maul her like an animal on my porch. At least get her to the dance, son.”
I chuckle even though my cheeks are warm. I do feel like a teenager when I’m around Micah, but in a good way. In that crazy can’t-keep-my-hands-off-of-him type of way. If his kiss was any indication, Micah feels the exact same.
We say goodnight again to his father, and Micah puts a hand on my back as he leads me toward his truck. My skin is cold with so little material but it’s worth it for the feeling of his hand on me. Before he opens the door, he shrugs out of his suitcoat.
I wrap myself in it, loving both the smell of his cologne and his warmth. He makes me feel so safe and cared for. Is this how love is supposed to be? Does it go cold to wrap you in warmth?
As soon as we’re in the truck, Micah’s hand finds mine. The way his big hand engulfs mine makes me feel tiny and protected. I think this man would do anything for me, and I’m certain I’d do the same.
“Can I ask you something?” I’m toasty warm since he aimed all the heaters at me. But I still don’t want to give up his jacket. It’s nice wearing something that was on his body. “Where is Abby’s mama?”
Micah
She asked the one question I don’t know how to answer. I wish I had something to give her. Something to give my daughter because one day, she’ll ask me that same question. The thought that I won’t have an answer or that worse, she’ll think that it somehow means she’s worthless leaves me wanting to howl with rage. How do I explain to the most perfect little girl in the world that she wasn’t wanted?
The miles pass in silence, and Chloe doesn’t push. Of course, she doesn’t. She’s never been anything less than kind and understanding. But we can’t move forward if I don’t answer these questions. We’ll be forever stuck in this awkward dance, neither of us quite sure where we stand.
“I’m not sure where she is,” I finally confess. What kind of father doesn’t know where his daughter’s mother is? Why don’t I know?
I spend hours every night online, combing through social media posts and forums. I’m looking for clues, something that will tell me who she is and why she gave up her sweet little baby. Something that will tell me where she is and if she needs help. Fuck, I hope she’s not in trouble.