Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
She turned the glass another quarter turn. “Far enough that the grocery store has ten aisles tops, and someone’s aunt works the register and knows if you buy tampons and tells your mom.”
I huffed. “Sounds like hell.”
“It was crowded,” she said, “for being so empty.”
I filed that word away—crowded—and let it be. People told you what you needed to know if you let silence do its job. I stirred the pan, added the tomatoes so they’d blister. I splashed in a little pasta water to make it friendly. The kitchen fogged just enough to make it cozy.
“You live here alone?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I checked the pasta and judged it done by the way a piece bit back. “Been here a while. Suits me. My kid used to come in the summers.”
Her head snapped up a fraction. “You have a kid?”
“Daughter.” I drained the pasta and added it to the skillet. “Elaina. Twenty-three.”
The math ran across her face. She didn’t hide it. “She’s older than me.”
“By a few years, not much.” I killed the heat and tossed everything together until the sauce went glossy. “If that’s going to be a problem for you, say it.” I plated food without flourish and slid a dish toward her.
She didn’t touch the fork yet. “Does it bother you?”
I leaned on the counter and took a bite off mine. “You asking if it bothers me that you’re a legal adult and making choices you own? No. Bother me that you could be my kid? Meh, as long as you don’t call me Daddy. That’s just not my kink.”
“That’s not what I—” She stopped, started again. “Some men like the power in it.”
“Some men do.” I met her eyes so she knew I wasn’t blind. “I like you. I like how quiet I get when you’re on the back of my bike. I like that you look at a thing before you touch it. I like that you told me yes last time after you told me no first, and you trusted that I would listen both times. I like that you aren’t afraid to tell me where your head is. That’s what I like. If the birthdate on your driver’s license is where you get stuck, we can stop here. For me, you have a wisdom in your eyes that screams old soul. We figure everything else out as it comes.”
She searched my face the way you test a fence to see what’s live. Then she nodded once and took a bite. The relief that moved through me was the kind you only feel when you weren’t going to call it quits, but you needed to know you could.
“This is good,” she said, surprised like taste had snuck up on her.
“Fuel,” I said.
“And thanks,” she finished, mouth curving.
We ate at my small table—a heavy square of old wood by a window that looked into trees. She sat angled, one foot tucked up on the rung, like she didn’t want to commit to either leaving or staying. Her braid had started to fray at the tail. I wanted to slide the tie free and comb it with my fingers. I wanted a lot of things I didn’t reach for.
“Tell me about her,” she said, chin tipping toward the shelf in the living room where the photos were.
“Elaina?” I set my fork down. “Graduated high school, said she’d go to college one state over and then stayed here for a young man, but she does take classes. Stubborn, smart, swears I’m overprotective and then texts me when her check engine light comes on like I’m a help line for instant diagnostics. She’s got her mother’s mouth when she’s mad and my temper when someone messes with her. I’m proud of her in that way that makes your chest hurt.”
Melody’s face softened. “Does she know…this part of your life?”
“She knows I wear a patch,” I said. “She knows I run with men she shouldn’t bring home unless she wants me to put them through a wall. That enough for you?”
“It’s enough.” She twirled pasta on the fork, then set it back down like she’d changed her mind mid-bite. “Does she like you?”
That earned a real grin out of me. “Depends on the day. On her thirteenth birthday I wouldn’t let her go to a party at a boy’s house when his parents weren’t home. She told me she wished I wasn’t her dad. Next morning she needed a science poster, and I was back in. Love’s a revolving door at that age, and focus is more immediate than long term.”
“And now?”
“She thinks I’m an antique and texts me memes to prove it.” I shrugged. “But when the world goes weird, I’m the one she calls. That’s what counts.”
“She’s lucky,” Melody said, quiet.
“She’s mine,” I said, because those words were the only ones that ever mattered where Elaina was concerned. “I take care of what I call mine.”