I really am.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gage
We’ve eaten dinner, done the dishes, and now we’re sitting on the sofa watching a sitcom. It feels so damn domestic. I should probably cringe at the notion and run for the hills, but that’s not the way I feel about it. No. I’m content. Happy, even. I mean, my stomach is full—veryfull—and my arm is wrapped around my girl, who’s cuddled into me and laughing at something funny on TV. Pepper Anderson is curled up in Daisy’s lap like she’s meant to be there, all while Daisy strokes the top of her yellow head.
This is the life.
At least it’s the life I’ve always wanted. A life I only imagined with one other person, but she’s better off where she is. I know that now, because I was never supposed to be with Quinn Maxwell. No, I’m sure I was always meant to meet Daisy.
“Well, that was a funny show.”
“It was,” I say absently as I run my fingers over a strand of hair that must’ve fallen out of her bun. It feels silky as it slides along my hand. “I’ve never seen it. I’m usually on patrol at this time of night.”
Daisy turns her body until we’re facing each other. “That’s right. I forgot about that. You were on patrol that night.”
“I was.”
“So, after this investigation, you’ll go back to working nights?” Her dark brows furrow, and her nose scrunches up. It’s fucking adorable.
“I assume so. Why? Does that bother you?”
I’m waiting for a response, but all she’s doing is blinking. I can see worry in her eyes. “No. Of course not. Are we…?” she stammers. “Is this…?”
Taking her hands in mine. “I think we are, and I think this is, but only time will tell.”
She’s searching my eyes, though for what, I’m not sure. “It’s moving fast.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I don’t think so.
Turning back to her spot cuddled up against me, she says, “I don’t know.” Picking up the remote, she presses the Guide button. “It’s only eight. Let’s watch something else.”
I guess we’re done talking about that, which is okay with me because it got heavy real fast, and I don’t have any answers for us right now. Neither of us does.
As she slides through channels, I spot something I’ve wanted to check out. “Let’s watchThe Great Gatsby.”
“Ha-ha,” she deadpans. “Funny.”
“What? Why not. It’s got that Leo guy in it, right? I heard it’s good.”
Daisy presses her face into my arm and groans. Or maybe growls is a better word.
“What?”
Pushing away from me, she looks me square in the eye and says, “I’m named after the heroine inThe Great Gatsby, although ‘heroine’ denotes someone good or heroic, and she was definitely neither of those things.”
“Okay,” I say, though I’m not sure where she’s going with this. “So, no to the movie?”
I guess what I said was funny because she laughs. “Fine. I haven’t seen this version of the story, so if you want to watch it….” She looks me square in the eye, “But if you think I’m anything like that character—”
Raising both hands, I pronounce, “I promise. No comparisons.”
“Because my father is an asshole, and it started the day I was born. He cursed me with this name, and he did it on purpose.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Because his father, Rochester Buchanan, who was named after the character Edward Rochester fromJane Eyre, named my father after a character in an Oscar Wilde novel. Hisonlynovel.”
