Bundling my things back into the bag, I open the door. Maisey is in her reindeer pajamas, her hair braided, big eyes looking up as she slams into me. Her arms wrap around my waist, her face smooshed into my stomach. “Night, CC.”
Her muffled words vibrate through my belly.
“Righto, little miss. Bedtime.” Quinton’s low tone sees Maise peel away, a little pout on her face before she schools it back.
“One more thing,” she says, beckoning me down to her level with a finger.
“What is it, sweetheart?” I bend down, and she closes in like we’re about to exchange secrets.
“There’s mistletoe under the kitchen door,” she whispers, loud enough for us all to hear.
I glance to Quinton, whose face is straining to stay neutral.
“Okay, don’t tell your dad. We’ll make it a surprise.”
“He totally didn’t notice yet.”
“Mum’s the word.”
Her eyes light up as she nods quickly, lips pursed.
I kind of feel bad putting ideas into her head. But it’s not like it didn’t almost happen. And sometimes you just need a little hope, right? But the second the thought passes, I realize that getting her hopes up is cruel. She’s so young, she probably has dreams of her father finding someone that will become part of their life permanently.
There’s nothing permanent about my existence.
Shit.
I should have kept my mouth shut.
Before I can take back what I said, Quinton is ushering her up the stairs and to bed.
God, I’m a horrible human being. Planting ideas and dreams in the heads of young children, only so they can be ripped away...
May as well be the grinch.
I consider ducking out without saying goodnight, but that would be worse.
So I wait at the front door, bag in hand, gaze on the floor as I reprimand myself for my reckless stupidity with a little girl’s heart.
“Must be an interesting patch of floor.” His words are soft, low.
He clears his throat.
“Huh? Yeah, about before, I’m sorry if I gave Maisey the wrong ide?—”
“The only wronganythingwith this scenario is the doorway you’re standing by.”
“Right, she’s going to expect that now.”
I am truly an idiot.
“She’s not the only one,” he says, a grin widening his lips.
And my gaze is stuck on them.
The silence turns to tension-filled white noise as I raise my eyes to meet his. “Qui?—”
“It’s okay, Celeste. I don’t...” He rubs a hand behind his neck, his gaze searching the room. “Nightcap?”
