My gaze snaps back to hers. I raise an eyebrow. “That was easier than I expected.”
She grins. “You said please. That should be rewarded.”
I look down at her glossy red lips and want her to tell me please as I kiss her. I want her to beg, to plead for me as I take her. All night long.
But I don’t say any of that. Instead, we return our skates and gather our things. And I drive us home in silence, with Belle falling asleep in her booster and the snow falling down around us, a blanket to soften the loudness of my thoughts.
* * *
Poppy
Ronan says please.
Derek never said please.
Ronan opens the car door. He thanks me whenever I do anything for him, even if it’s as small as making him a smoothie or watching his daughter, which is what I’m paid to do.
He listens to me as if what I’m saying matters.
And he kisses me as if he’ll never stop, as if the world could end, bombs descend, floods rampage, but our kiss will still go on.
And with each quietplease, each thoughtful gesture, each protective inclination, and each devastating touch, I fall a little harder.
When he was just a movie star on the screen, I’d giggle and sigh over him.
When we first met, I developed a harmless crush, infatuated with someone who was impossibly out of my league.
But that infatuation has changed, morphed, deepened. And now I have to acknowledge that my crush isn’t so harmless. It has the potential to be as devastating to my heart as his kisses are to my body.
“Do I have to go to bed already?” Belle whines, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes, little one, you do,” I say, brushing out her wet hair.
I know that voice. That’s the voice of an overtired, overstimulated child. Ice-skating kept her up past her bedtime.
Now she’s warm and clean after her bath in a new set of pajamas that we bought last week, comfy Christmas ones, these featuring snowmen.
I tie her hair back into a loose braid to keep it from getting tangled while she sleeps, as Ronan appears in the doorway.
“Story time?” he asks, picking up one of her favorites from the bookshelf. “It’s going to be a short one since it’s late.”
I’m grateful we’re on the same page. When I first started, I established a more regular routine and timetable, and Belle thrived. I expected Ronan to upend it all when he was home, but to my surprise, he’s let my schedule stand, as if he respects what I’ve set up.
Belle yawns. I kiss her forehead. “Night night, love bug. I’ll let your daddy read this one.”
“Can you stay, Poppy?”
I look at Ronan. “Stay,” he repeats. “Unless you’re busy.”
I smile at Belle. “Too busy for story time? Never.”
Ronan struggles to crawl into the bed next to Belle. It’s a bunk bed, but safe for younger kids, so it’s lower than normal. As a result, it’s almost impossible for him to fit in it. Even bending at an awkward angle, he hits his head on the bed above.
I laugh as his long legs stick out.
“I think we need story-time seating in here,” I suggest. “Maybe some beanbags.”
“If you think beanbags are going to be better, you’re mistaken,” he grumbles.
