Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I grin, hoping she hears it down the phone. “I miss you, Darcy.”
“I miss you too. Speak to Avril and Poppy. And go to dinner with that guy.”
I want to go to dinner with Deacon. But I don’t want to piss off Avril and Poppy. Darcy’s right, I should just talk to them. What’s the worst that can happen?
“Maybe,” I say.
“Enough with the maybes. Go have some sex. Have fun. And then come home.”
Home. Darcy’s home to me. Talking to her was like teleporting back there for a few minutes. Even though I’ve been gone a month, I don’t feel homesick like I expected to. I feel excited. It’s good being in a new hotel where I don’t know every nook and cranny like the back of my hand, where I don’t know everybody who works there as well as I know myself. I can be a new version of myself. The kind of woman who dates, takes risks, goes to brunch, and kisses strangers.
New York is exactly how it brands itself—new. Darcy’s right, I need to squeeze out every last drop from this Big Apple.
SIXTEEN
Deacon
Just before I put my key in the lock of the townhouse on Wednesday evening, I check my phone.
Still no message from Aurora.
I really thought she’d agree to dinner. It’s just dinner, and we’ve done that before, even if it was by chance.
The chemistry between us is… Maybe she doesn’t feel it like I do. I just can’t imagine that’s the case. The way she kisses me. Her fingers in my hair. Her hot breath on my neck. I shake my head. It doesn’t make sense that she wouldn’t call.
Willow squealing “Daddy” as I open the door shifts everything, and I shrug off my jacket, just in time to catch her as she jumps into my arms. “I missed you!”
“I missed you,” I say, burying my face in her mass of curls.
“I’m eating dinner. Baked potato and broccoli.”
“Any protein with that?”
She pushes out her bottom lip. “I ate two mouthfuls of steak.”
“Good,” I say, and her face breaks into a smile. Two mouthfuls of steak is better than nothing. I gotta take the wins. “Let’s go and finish dinner. You can tell me about your day.”
With Willow in my arms, we head into the kitchen, where Willow eats.
“Hi, Lucia,” I say to Willow’s nanny.
“Hi, Mr. Black. Willow’s being a very good girl.”
Willow smiles, as if to say, I told you, Daddy.
“Has your mommy left?” I ask. Usually Gabby will stay until I arrive, but maybe she’s busy wedding planning.
“She’s in the loo,” Willow says, and I smile at her English turn of phrase. That’s my girl.
“You sit,” I say, sliding Willow onto a chair.
“But you sit too,” she says.
It’s only ninety minutes until Willow will be tucked up in bed, asleep. If she wants me to sit, I’ll sit. If she wants me to juggle baked potatoes, I’ll do it. I’m just pleased to be here with her.
I slide into the bench next to her and she starts eating her dinner again.
“Tell me about school.”
“It was good,” she replies.
And that’s it. There’s no more meat on the bone. Willow likes to chat. But she’s never particularly forthcoming about what happens at school.
“What did you have for lunch?” I ask.
“Pasta,” she says, which is what she says every day. I wonder if there’s anything else on the menu. The amount I’m paying, they should be serving my kid foie gras and caviar every day.
“And who did you sit next to?” I ask, trying to draw blood from the stone. That’s my daughter.
“Kimberly.”
Kimberly’s a friend I’ve not heard of before.
“Who’s Kimberly?” I ask.
“Kimberly at my school. She’s in my class, Daddy.” Her tone suggests she thinks I’m the biggest idiot who ever lived. She clearly thinks I need to have a handle on everyone in the class. Ironically, that would be easier to do if she ever gave me any information about her day.
“How was Mrs. Walsh today?” I ask.
“Good,” she replies.
I do my best not to eye roll.
“What story’s she reading you at the moment?”
“The same, Daddy.”
“Thirteen Story Treehouse?”
She nods, stuffing a mouthful of baked potato, cheese, and beans in her mouth.
I don’t bother asking her whether she likes the book. She’ll just answer that it’s “good.”
“Tell me the three best things about your day?” I ask.
“You go first,” she says. Willow will be a first-class negotiator when she’s older, if the early signs are any indication. I swear, she’ll probably work for the UN or something.
“Coming home to be with you,” I say, without skipping a beat.
Willow grins and her smile makes my heart soar. Christ, I’m a lucky bastard having a daughter.
“What else?” she asks.
“As I was going to work, I saw a lady carrying a cat on her head.”
Willow starts to giggle. “You did not, Daddy.”