Deciding to just get it ready anyway, I head for the door.
“One sugar, a little milk, please, miss.” His voice has returned to its usual lilt.
A sad smile tugs at my mouth, and Quinton follows me to the kitchen.
“Does he need a snack with his pills?” Quin says, rummaging through the pantry. When he pulls out a small pack of Christmas cookies, he slides them across the counter to me. I put the kettle on to boil and grab a mug.
Best Dad in the Worldis wrapped around the outside, the handle a bright blue, a hammer and screwdriver painted at the end of the phrase. Tears burn behind my eyes, like I haven’t shed enough of those tonight.
“Hey, come here.” Quinton rounds the counter and has me in his hold before my tears have the chance to fall. “None of this is your fault. You do an incredible job looking after your father, CC. A task most would have palmed off to some respite or old folks’ home by now.”
His hand travels over the back of my hair, and the sorrow that was threatening my undoing gives way to something more intense. I press closer to him, but pain lances through my face when pressure reaches the cut. With a hiss, I make space. Quinton’s hands are quick to palm my jawline, tilting my head up.
“A little bruising has started to come out, but otherwise still as beautiful as ever, baby.”
I huff a breath and my eyes flutter shut briefly, before pushing to my toes. “Not so bad yourself, Mr. MacKelvie.” I mess up his hair, and he dips his head forward, making it fall into his eyes. Dark blues look out from behind hooded eyes and light brown messy strands of hair.
I want to positively eat him.
Nothing has ever been surer in this world.
The kettle whistles, bursting our little bubble of intimacy. I turn back to the hot water and pour Dad’s tea. Quin rummages through the drawers until he produces a tray and slides the cookies and mug onto it before stealing it away. “I’ve got it, you get ready for bed.”
“What about Maise?”
“Oh, she’s going to be so excited to see you.”
My brows drop. “What do you mean?”
“You are sleeping at my house tonight, no arguments. I’ll keep an eye on Hank.”
“Qui—”
“Uh-uh, not negotiable, baby.”
I round the counter and follow him through the door into the hallway. When he turns right heading for the living room, I go left. He makes it almost to the arch that leads into the living room when I say, “If you say so, Quinnie.”
I sway my hips, taking the steps slowly and one at a time.
His eyes burn into me as I ascend the stairs. And I half imagine him dropping the tray and ravishing me over the steps. At least that way, one good thing would have come out of tonight.
But he gives me the most incredible smile before stepping into the living room and out of sight.
And my body is on fire.
From that one look, that one handsome-as-hell smile.
It’s going to be a long night.
Maise is, as predicted, beside herself with excitement. She’s jumping on her bed like a literal monkey, her chocolate curls flying around her shoulders as she squeals with delight.
“This is the best day ever!”
I chuckle. “I’m glad you’re happy, sweetheart.”
She slows, moving to the edge where I stand as she cuddles me tight. “Thank you for coming to my house,” she whispers.
“Any time, snuggle bug.”
