“They think I’m a princess,” Aya whispers as we walk off. “I didn’t want to break it to them that I’m not, so I let it slide.”
“You’re my princess,” Denver tells her.
“Yeah, that’s what Kai told me last night too. She said little girls are always princesses to their dads and the most important person in their lives.” I did say that. Dad used to tell Lea and me that every night before we went to bed.
Denver places his hand on my back as Aya continues in front of us. His fingers scratch up and down against my skin, a subtle gesture that says a lot.
“I wish Kai could tell me another bedtime story tonight. No offense, Dad, but her stories are way better than yours.”
Denver laughs. “Thanks a lot. It took me a long time to get good at my storytelling skills.” He scruffs up Aya’s hair, and she lets out a high-pitched scream. “Don’t touch my hair, Dad!”
“If you want me to follow you home with my car, I can tell her a quick story and head home. You’re on my way,” I tell Denver quietly, hoping Aya doesn’t hear me. In case he doesn’t want me to come over, I don’t want to get her involved or excited.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” he responds just as quietly.
“I’d love to,” I tell him.
“Okay, Aya, Kai will come in quickly and tell you a bedtime story, but that means you have to go right to sleep after that. It’s late.”
“Deal,” she says, shooting her thumb up above her head.
Maybe I’m pushing too hard, or I’m letting my guard down too fast. It’s unlike me to be hasty or jump into situations partially blindfolded, but I feel like my mind is working on its own accord, and I can’t seem to think straight when I’m talking to Denver or interacting with him. I feel like my brain has been taken over by my emotions.
This is probably why people date and test the waters out before they’re in their late twenties. I have no idea how this all works. This relationship stuff is all new to me. I have no clue if I’m doing things right, and now he’s not even thinking straight, either, with all this crap sitting on his shoulders.
I’m feel like I’m following in Lea’s footsteps by rushing into something, but my heart beats harder when he’s around, and a smile naturally finds my face. Denver makes me feel like I’m something more than I’ve ever seen myself as. That’s what Lea told me Noa made her feel like, and I said she was crazy for falling for him so quickly. I’m questioning myself now. Maybe I’ve been wrong all along.
When we arrive at Denver’s new house, all three of us step out of the vehicles at the same time. “I can unlock the door,” Aya says as she runs toward the front of the house with Denver’s keys in her hand.
“I hope I didn’t put you on the spot back at the hotel. I don’t know how this dating thing works, and I don’t want to be too much or overbearing … too forward … you know?”
“Wow, so I guess me asking you to spend the night would be a bad idea, huh?” he asks.
“Well,” I say, unsure how to respond. I left last night, worried Aya would find me staying over and expect it after that. “I don’t know.”
“I fully believe if something feels right, we shouldn’t fight it. Plus, don’t tell anyone I said this, but I don’t want to be alone tonight. I have a sick feeling in my stomach, and I’ve had enough lonely days in my life over the last eight years. I’m kind of over it right now.”
“What about Aya?”
“I have to wake her up every morning. She’s not an early bird. We’ll be safe.”
We walk up behind Aya as she’s still struggling with the key, so we put our conversation on pause. “What’s wrong with this stupid lock?” she asks.
Denver takes the key from her hand and slips it into the lock. “You were locking it,” he says. “There we go.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Aya argues.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s okay. Go on in,” he says.
Aya jumps in through the doorway and flips the light on.
The room illuminates with an unfamiliar woman sitting on the couch, and while I don’t know for sure who she is, it appears his ex-wife figured out where he lives faster than I probably would have. This move of breaking into Denver’s house really suggests she’s batshit crazy. She looks crazy. Her hair is all over the place, and she’s wearing sweatpants that are too small, slippers over socks, and an oversized t-shirt with a poop emoji. She doesn’t strike me as Denver’s type, nor does she look anything like Aya, so I’m really confused. Of course, it feels like twenty minutes have gone by since we spotted her on the couch, and no one has said a word until now.
“Who’s she, Dad?” Aya seems confused as she looks the woman up and down with a snarl on her face.
If Aya doesn’t know her, this might be a larger cause for concern than I thought.
Chapter Twenty-Three
