I want to . . .
I brush the pads of my fingers over his jawline. The angles that I’ve been noticing all night. I shouldn’t be?—
Quinton clears his throat.
I step out of his space, realizing too late that I wandered into his proximity.
“You want a baby wipe or a warm washcloth to take that off?” His voice is low and all business. A stark contrast to the happy tone it was just seconds ago.
“Sure,” I finally rasp out.
He pulls the plug in the sink and dries his hands before disappearing from the kitchen. I wander to the living room, finding my father snoring. He looks so content, peaceful.
And I just watch him for a moment, taking him in. Letting the seconds turn into a cluster of time, creating a new memory of my dad. It’s bittersweet, knowing his peace will be lost when he opens his eyes. That this may be one of the last memories I make of him before the disease renders him too far gone.
Emotion clogs my throat, and I wrap my arms around myself, willing the morbid thoughts away.
“Hey,” a soft baritone interrupts my sad state.
I turn to find Quinton, warm washcloth in the hand he has extended to me. But I can’t bring myself to take it. Still fighting the reality of what’s left of my last parent. Overcome with hurt and grief in the shape of another impending loss.
Tears burn as I meet his gaze.
“Celeste,” he says softly.
A tear slips from the well lining my eyes, and I slam them shut.
Warmth, sandalwood, and spice surround me instantly. My face meets a hard wall of muscular chest.
Oh shit.
I chug a sob into the warm comfort he affords me. His hand wraps around the back of my neck like we’ve been doing this our whole lives. The other hand is holding me to him like if he only holds tight, he can ward off whatever is causing me hurt.
He feels so . . . safe.
The loneliness I’ve been barely keeping at bay finally retreats far enough away that I can’t feel its cold bite.
It’s a relief. A grounding feeling I never knew I needed.
He swallows, and I feel his Adam’s apple bob.
Shit, I’m lingering.
I push from his hold, drying my face, breathing through the last of the emotion. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to snot all over your shirt. Crap.”
He doesn’t look down, only releasing me from his hold gradually as if he can’t let go until he’s sure I’m okay.
No wonder his daughter is so incredible. She has the most amazing parent as a role model.
“Celeste, you don’t have to do this alone.”
“Says Mr. Single Parent.”
Instantly, I know it was the wrong thing to say. But I’ve never been very good at tense moments. One of the reasons I could never hold a career, let alone a decent-paying job. “I?—”
He waves a hand, shaking his head. “Forget it, I know what you mean. I’m not exactly over here asking for help, either. It’s always just been me and Maise. I’ve never felt the need to ask. She’s my kid, so I’ll raise her, you know. My responsibility, not anyone else’s. Besides, it’s my privilege.”
And . . . there goes my ovaries.
