I raise a brow. “That was fast.”
She huffs a nervous sound. “What was?”
“The nickname.”
“I can nix it if you hate it.”
I step closer, my body pressing against hers as I cup the back of her neck with my hand. “There’s not one thing about you I could ever hate, CC.”
Her face flattens under something that looks suspiciously like shock. “I mean?—”
“Daddy! CC! Come see our snowman!” Maisey’s voice carries through the phone app, the faded echo of it outside reaching us through the closed door.
“Shit, that’s our cue,” CC says, pulling her sweater down.
“Let me fix you up,” I offer.
She turns to give me her back, and I do the clasp of the bra up. Not able to resist, I wrap myself around her one last time. “To be continued, neighbor.”
Her hand reaches back, running through my hair as she turns her face and dots a kiss to my jawline. “I’ll hold you to that, Quin.”
I’m damn sure of it.
We unlock the door and head for the backyard. Pushing out into the morning sun, we find Maise helping Hank sink sticks into the side of the snowman for arms.
All . . . seven of them?
Interesting . . .
“Hey kiddo, your man here has a few too many arms.” I point at the multi-armed creation, realizing now he is more alien than snowman.
“Hank wanted to do something different. He kept saying ‘we need more, Tisha, more.’”
“I see.” I come to stand behind Maise, wrapping my arms around her as I dot a kiss to the top of her beanie. The cold day’s wind whips at my back, reminding me that, in our rush, we forgot our coats.
“Daddy,” Maisey says, looking up at me. “Who’s Tisha?”
“CC’s mama,” I whisper into her ear, not wanting to confuse Hank.
CC gives me a grateful look as she adjusts Hank’s coat and scarf.
“Are you and CC going to build a snowman, too?” Maisey says, bending down and scooping up a handful of snow, holding it out to me.
“Maybe. CC, you up for building a snowman with me?”
“Sure, just let me get Hank inside. Then you’re on, MacKelvie.”
“Sounds like a challenge, not a team effort.”
She leads her father to the back of the house, settling him in his reading chair where she can keep an eye on him, and returns, her smile blazing through the crisp winter surroundings.
“What do you think, Maise? Us girls against your dad?”
“Yes!” Maise leaves me in the dust—well, snow—quicker than a cat up a tree with its tail on fire, sticking her tongue out at me for good measure.
“Right, you’re on. First to build a regular snowman wins.”
“Hold up, let’s set some parameters first.” CC cocks a hip, planting a hand to it.
