By the time I walked out of his office, I’d forgotten everything other than him. He made it easier to breathe, and I…and I…
I loved him.
The realization should have sent me into another panic, but it didn’t.
It just didn’t.
As simple as that.
And I didn’t want to fight it.
I didn’t want to worry about what anyone else thought.
I didn’t want to overthink.
For the first time, I just wanted to feel.
A giddy rush of joy fluttered in my chest as I moved to open my office door.
“Aspen,” my father called behind me.
I turned, my face still alight with a smile that had him smiling in return.
“Mind if I come in?”
“Sure.”
He followed me and sat back on the couch, getting comfortable, meaning this was more of a personal visit than a professional one. “You seem to be in a good mood.”
“I am,” I agreed, joining him on the couch.
He pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Good. I love it when you’re happy. You have your mother’s smile.”
I smiled harder and sat back, waiting for him to start the conversation.
“How are the interviews going?”
“Good. We actually had a good candidate today,” I explained, grateful I could do so without experiencing any of the panic from before. “And I’m still hoping to find Shiloh among the applicants.”
His face turned thoughtful, considering the suggestion. “You’re right. She would be an amazing fit. I hope she applies.”
“So, did you only come for an update?” I inquired when he didn’t say more.
“Can’t a man come see his favorite daughter?” He laughed at my deadpan stare and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a black velvet ring box. “Your mother would want you to have this.Iwant you to have this.”
Before I even opened the box, unshed tears burned my eyes.
“Daddy,” I breathed. The thin platinum band with faded floral inlay blurred. “Mom’s ring.”
“She made me promise to keep it so we could pass it on to you, like her mother did her and all the other women in her family.”
I swiped at my eyes and pulled the patinaed ring from the box, sliding it onto my ring finger.
“I was worried it wouldn’t fit, but I shouldn’t have. Your mother used to say it carried magic that allowed it to fit any woman who wore it. That’s how it’s fit all the past generations,” he explained, laughing. “I know it’s not as grand as the ring Lucian go?—”
“It’s perfect. Both our mothers’ rings,” I explained, admiring the similarities and differences between the two. His mom’s was newer, but they both appeared softer from years of wear. “I love it. Thank you.”
“Of course, a stór.”
