“Some burned toast and a kitchen full of smoke. It reallywasn’ta big deal.” I said, looking up at him.
“But also, Gideon said that I could stay hereas long as I like.”
Liam’s eyes met mine. “Did he now?”
“Of course,” I said, and I meant it to come out casual and shit, but instead it came out gravelly and intense.
“So can we, Daddy? Can we stay for longer? I haveplansfor the Light Parade, but also it would probably be best if we were here for Santa Claus. Less confusing for him that way.”
Liam blinked. “That’s… Hazel, that’s another whole week and a bit. We can’t… I don’t—”
“Long as I like,”Hazel repeated. “Right, Gideon?”
I nodded at her because it was easier than trying to read the expressions that flickered over Liam’s face. “Sure thing, Bug. But why don’t you let your dad and me talk about that first, okay?”
“’Kay!” she agreed happily. “Daddy, come join our Princess Tea Party!”
Liam’s eyes softened. “Tea party with my best girl and my best…” He darted a glance at me and cleared his throat. “… Gideon? How could I say no to that?”
I would have given a lot to know how he’d been planning to end that sentence. But like with the other questions between us, I was going to have to wait for an answer.
“Get some tea from the kitchen and come sit with us!” Hazel decreed. “You can be Princess Lavender.”
Liam looked at Hazel, then he looked at me. “I can’t wait,” he said. And I was pretty sure he actually meant it.
Chapter Ten
Liam
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
If there was anything sexier than hearing a grown man—a tall, muscled, crinkle-eyed, growly-voiced, sexy-as-a-slooooow-fuckman—chat about gowns in an accent that was half Scarlett O’Hara, half Dowager Countess of Grantham, I could not tell you what it was.
Thatwas fucking unexpected. But then, in my wildest imaginings I could not have predicted any of the shit that had happened this week.
I immediately turned and strode to the kitchen to get myself a mug of tea, partly because I was eager to get back to watching Gideon play princess and partly because I worried I might explode if I watched them any longer. In fact, when I got to the cupboard, I stood there for a whole minute with my hand clenched around a mug handle, just breathing in and out and trying not to feel too much.
Being around Gideon for the past week hadn’t made me immune to the man in any way. In fact, every minute I spent with him just made me crave the next minute that much more. And it wasn’t just a physical thing, although… yeah, that was very real also. Gideon just called to me in a way I couldn’t explain—not just sexual, or intellectual, or emotional, but all of that and more, the way a compelling photograph wasn’t simply about the composition or the light or the speed orany oneof those particular things, but about themagic that happened when all of those things were exactly right and created a whole greater than the sum of its parts.
I rested my head on the edge of the cabinet door. And apparently I was also a fucking poet now. A terrible one.
A terrified one.
The first few months after Nora died, I’d had to force myself not to think about Gideon. I’d be up in the night with Hazel, soothing her after a nightmare and feeling really fucking sorry for my sleep-deprived self, and my mind would immediately jump to Gideon the way your tongue worries a sore spot in your mouth.How was he doing? What was he doing? Did he think of me? Did hehateme? Was he alone? Had he moved on?
It had made mesad. Sad in a selfish way that bled into the whole rest of my life. I’d realized that I’d left Gideon for Hazel’s sake… but I hadn’t left all the way. I’d still hoped he’d find his way back to me—on a white horse, obvs—and rescue me from the lonely anxiety and the relentless day-to-day obligations of my life.
I’d been looking around for a steady, responsible adult to help me figure out what the fuck I was supposed to be doing. And then I’d realized…Oh,shit, that steady, responsible adult was supposed to beme.So I’d stopped dreaming up fairy tales—stopped myself from thinking about Gideon at all, except for the odd nightmare—until a couple weeks ago.
I kinda wished I’d taken notes on how I’d accomplished that, since I had no clue how I was going to repeat it when it was time for us to leave here. Not after kissing him and cooking dinner beside him, seeing his face over morning coffee and laughing with him before bed.
We were supposed to be getting adivorce.
This was supposed to be anending.
Ripping off a Band-Aid.
