It was almost painful how much I wanted to know, but a comical yawn from the top of the stairs pierced the air just as the alarm I’d set on my phone to wake before Charlie went off.
The obnoxious beeping hurt my brain. I shut it off and hurried to the foot of the stairs, catching Charlie as he reached the bottom, and swinging him onto my hip. “Mornin’. Guess who’s here to see us?”
Charlie rubbed his nose. Stole mine and ate it, chewing as his tiny brain dropped into deep thought. “Fenny?”
“No, Fen lives here. This is his house. Who else did I tell you we’d be seeing while we were on Christmas Mountain?”
Charlie made a sound that could’ve been deciphered as Aunt Safia.
I gestured for him to try again. “Nearly. Who else?”
“Padda?”
Close enough. I grinned and turned so he could see the hulking bulk of his other favourite uncle loitering behind him. They’d only met a handful of times since Charlie had been born, but perhaps knowing this day would come, I’d bombarded Charlie with photos and videos of the family we shared. Face-timed whenever Safia’s patchy Internet signal had allowed. In the absence of in-person contact, I’d built Paddy up to be the BFG’s friendliest friend.
I hadn’t lied.
He bore down on us and stole Charlie from my arms with his massive hands. Charlie’s eyes widened to that terrifying precipice where he was either going to scream in terror or shriek with sheer joy. Most times it was eighty-twenty in favour of terror, especially with strangers. Sweet Fen seemed to be the exception, and with Paddy, my photo scrolling on the iPad in favour of bedtime stories had paid off.
Charlie laughed as if Paddy was the funniest thing he’d ever seen and wrapped his arms around his neck. “Padda!”
“That’s Uncle Padda to you,” Paddy grumped, “but whatever. Where’s all your stuff, little man? Are you ready to take a ride in my big truck?”
Truck was the magic word where Charlie was concerned. Paddy set him down, and he scampered around Fen’s house, collecting the handful of things we’d brought with us and stuffing them into his bag.
I was wearing one of Fen’s flannel shirts. It was too big, but it was warm, and smelled of him, and there wasn’t a single part of me that considered taking it off.
Charlie’s bag was full. He handed it to Paddy who peered inside, frowning. “This is all you brought? Where’s Uncle Rama’s stuff?”
“Diden bring none.”
“Any,” I corrected, avoiding Paddy’s gaze as I searched around for the few things I had brought—my phone, my shoes, my optimistic city-boy coat.
I realised too late I was clutching my phone already. Scowling, I shoved it into my pocket and finally approached Paddy to embrace him. His large arms crushed me, and I welcomed the oblivion, but at the same time, the sensation that they were the wrong fucking arms made me cut the hug short and push back, searching for Fen with little conscious thought.
He was nowhere in sight. He’d vanished into thin air and only the empty beer bottle on the floor by the couch convinced me the night we’d spent together hadn’t been a baked bean-induced hallucination.
Christ, you’re ridiculous.
Yup. I really was. Maybe the mountain air was getting to me, because as much as I’d thought about Fen back in the city, it hadn’t affected my ability to string a coherent thought together.
All the more reason to go home.
I shrugged into my coat and did a last scan of the space around us for mess and toddler detritus, but came up blank. The toddler in question had done a good job at erasing our brief disruption to Fen’s life and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Actually, I wasn’t sure how I felt about anything, save the fact I was still half asleep.
Paddy took pity on me and commandeered Charlie into his shoes and his Spiderman coat. He took him and the bag out to the truck while I trailed behind, still searching for Fen. For a big man, he was apparently an expert at making himself invisible. Or maybe I just didn’t know him well enough to have a fucking clue where he might’ve gone. It wasn’t as if I had any idea how he spent his days and nights when he wasn’t rescuing me from my bonehead life choices.
We reached the truck. Paddy had every car seat under the sun strapped to the backseat and he hoisted Charlie into the correct one without the pedantic instructions Damon and Leanne had always needed.He’s a good dad. The best. Maybe Charlie would—
“Not sneaking off, are you?”
I spun around.
Fen was behind me, dress code: level ten lumberjack, and the sight of him went straight to my dick.
See? You’re not even close to parent material.
