“I don’t want to start something we can’t finish,” CC mutters, gaze dropping to where our fingers are still laced together. “I can’t do that to her, Quin.”
That right there is the whole reason I know she is the woman I want in my life. Permanently.
“We’ll just start small, hey?” I say, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear.
“Small?”
“Yeah, small, slow. At least when we’re in company.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
My hand brushes over her cheek, my thumb dragging on her bottom lip. Maise stands behind CC, still waiting, her hands now on her hips, looking like we’re the petulant children and she’s the not-so-patient parent.
“We should probably do as she asks,” I rasp.
CC moves on my lap, and I can’t wait a second longer. I palm her face, pull her mouth down to mine, and kiss her.
“Yes!” Maise whoops, dancing around in the snow. “I knew it!”
CC puffs a laugh against my lips before breaking away. “What have we done, Quin?”
I chuckle. “Get ready for the most intrusive relationship you’ve ever had, baby.”
She drops her forehead to my shoulder. “I have a feeling it’ll be worth it.”
Four hours later, Maise is in bed. Finally. It took an hour and a half to get her ready and tucked in between six million questions about when CC and I are getting married and giving her a little sister, or what she should wear to the summer wedding. Because she hates the cold.
I sidelined most of those questions with a flakey response about grownups having to decide these things and earned myself at least a dozen eye rolls in the process.
“Night, kiddo.” I pull her door shut.
“Night, Daddy,” she calls out. “Night, CC!”
Celeste, who is downstairs wrapping gifts for her siblings for the first time in years, calls up the stairs. “Night, hon.”
And for the first time in my life, I feel like everything is right with the world. Everything is in its place. The people I love are?—
I grip the doorknob, resting my head against the closed door.
Fuck.
That sure as hell crept up on me.
I’m in love with Celeste Black.
I try to rationalize it each step of the way back down, but by the time I make it to the living room, I can’t reason away the intense feeling I have for the little woman sitting on my living room floor among wrapping paper, ribbon, and name cards under the sparkling strings of fairy lights around the room.
“Hey, Quinnie. Almost done. You need anything wrapped?” She looks up from the present she’s working on.
I stop by the sofa, almost breathless at the sight of her in my house doing something so mundane, just living. A stone occludes my airway as I rasp, “I’m good.”
“What’s wrong?” She pushes to her feet and pads to where I stand. Her elegant fingers flatten my brow. I must have been frowning. “What’s got you worried, hey?”
“Not worried, just...” I close the space between us and take her face in my hands, dotting a kiss on her forehead. “Content.”
“Well, if that’s your content face, I think it’s broken.” She nips my neck.
“Oh yeah, what about this one?” I haul in a lungful before meeting her gaze. And by the heat that’s growing in my core and the blood that just rushed south with her touch, I’m guessing she’ll read this expression much differently.
