But if she does mean me, it’s even worse. Because it will be that much harder to stay away from her.
It’s a dilemma.She’sa dilemma. One I don’t know what the hell to do about.
CHAPTER14
31 DAYS TO CHRISTMAS (STILL)
Poppy
“And then Maryanndared me to stufffourcookies into my mouth—the ones with the powdered sugar—and I did!” Belle chatters happily, sitting up in bed, rosy from a bath, her wet hair plaited in a loose braid, and wearing her embroidered pajama bottoms that came from France. I know because I checked the label. We paired her fancy bottoms with the “Gobble Gobble” Thanksgiving T-shirt that my grandma gave all the kids.
“Four, huh? That’s very impressive.” I smile at her, and my gaze seeks out Ronan. My stomach free-falls like I’m on a roller coaster at the soft way he smiles down at his daughter. Belle asked for both of us to put her to bed tonight, and I certainly didn’t object.
“Ha! That’s nothing,” Ronan says with a boastful grin. “I could do ten.”
“Liar. Only if they were high-protein, low-sugar, whole-grain cookies. Then maybe,” I tease him.
He makes a face at me and tickles Belle.
“Daddy!” She giggles.
He swallows, his eyes suspiciously bright. I know how much it means to him when she calls him that.
Ronan leans down and kisses Belle on the forehead, then tucks the sheets around her, adjusting her stuffed dog, Biscuit.
“Good night, Belle.”
“Good night, Daddy,” she repeats.
As I lean down for my turn to kiss her, my shoulder brushes Ronan’s. Heat tingles along the path as our limbs intersect.
“Good night, pumpkin. And I can call you that because you’ve finally tasted pumpkin pie,” I say.
Belle makes a face before her trained politeness kicks in and her expression smooths out. “It wasn’t my favorite,” she says diplomatically. One of her nannies must have been rock solid in teaching manners because all the seven-year-olds I know would have cried “ick” if they didn’t like something.
“I agree with you, kid,” Ronan says. “There’s a reason people only make it once a year. It’s one time too many.”
I bump Ronan with my shoulder. “Hey, don’t knock it. I love pumpkin pie.”
Belle giggles again, not looking at all tired. I fear this will be one of those nights with a dozen curtain calls. Requests for water. For a snack. For anything and everything to delay sleep.
“Good night, pie monster. See you in the morning.” I walk to the door and flip the light switch, bathing the room in darkness except for the soft glow from the night-light on her desk.
I turn to see Ronan give a last kiss to his daughter’s forehead. I step into the hallway, and he pulls the door, leaving it open a crack.
It feels far too intimate, the two of us standing together in the dark.
“Thanks for the day,” Ronan says. “Belle obviously loved it.”
“Of course. I hope it was okay. I know my family is a little much.” I’m whispering so as not to disturb Belle.
There were multiple times tonight that felt surreal, having him at my parents’ home surrounded by my relatives.
I was worried in the beginning. He’d seemed uncomfortable, especially when he was talking to my dad, who, with his many opinions, can come on strong. But, gradually, as the day wore on, Ronan relaxed. He laughed at jokes and gave as good as he got with my large, loving family. He even played tag with all the kids, who were delirious with delight when they caught their favorite action hero, tackling him to the ground in cheers and fits of laughter. And Ronan didn’t go running into the night when the men wanted to take turns arm-wrestling him. He took it easy, not demolishing them at the first count of go.
Now that he’s been in my parent’s house, I feel closer to him. My family means everything to me. And by inviting him into that space, I invited him further into my heart. If it had been a test, he would have passed. Spectacularly. And that scares me.
He tilts his chin down. Our eyes meet.
