Celeste glances at her empty coffee cup. “I’m just going to...”
She wanders off.
And shit, now I feel bad.
Should I?
A small hand tugs at my coat. “Daddy, buy her another coffee. It’s the right thing to do at Christmas time.”
“Is it now?” I raise a brow.
Hers lower as she adds a firm, “Yes.”
Damn me for raising this little lady right. I rub a hand behind my neck, assessing the situation from my vantage point. That is to say, hoping I can stall long enough for Celeste to leave.
No such luck. She grabs up a shopping basket and heads for the fridge section. Most likely replacing the juice she just lost.
“Daddy,” Maise warns.
“Fine, but your lights are going to have to wait.”
“I can wait. It is Christmas time, after all.” She folds her arms, her final gesture ushering me to my doom.
Internalizing a groan, I cross the small shop to where Celeste stands, picking out some of the better winter fruits before placing them in her basket.
“So, ah. Sorry about that, back there I mean. Did you—would you...”
What the fuck?
I clear my throat. “Let me replace your coffee?”
It sounds more like a question than an offer.
Celeste doesn’t bother meeting my gaze as she continues picking up apples and turning them over in her hand. “No thanks.”
“Come on, let me replace it.”
“I’m good.” She still doesn’t look at me.
“I realize we didn’t get off to the best start, but?—”
She turns, pinning me with her dark gaze. “You think?”
I don’t respond, and Celeste moves on to the vegetable section. Great, she’s going to make it hard.
Fucking Christ.
It’s embarrassing how this woman I barely know gets under my skin so damn easily.
I glance back to see Maise tapping one foot.
Why did I take the proper route and raise a strong, independent girl? It’s currently biting me in the ass. Big time.
“Celeste.”
Not turning back, she sighs, her shoulders rising and falling. “What, Quinton.”
It sounds like a statement, not a question. And my name on her lips takes me by surprise.
