Oh, and where do babies come from?
So yeah, I’m definitely bracing.
Definitely.
Because when I flick my eyes to the rearview mirror to see her face, there’s something more intense than usual about her expression.
Something thoughtful.
Something…dangerous.
I pull into her preschool’s parking lot and turn off the car, spinning around in my seat to face her. “All right, kid. Spill it.”
Her little mouth purses. Her nose wrinkles.
Her eyes, so much like her mom’s, come to mine.
“Do you love my dad?”
I choke.
Not metaphorically.
Actually.
On air.
On my own spit.
Because Rhodes and I have gone on two dates over the last week—that amazing first night together (attempting to build mylessthan amazing Skating Skills) and the other just a couple nights ago with Chloe to have dinner and see the latest and greatest animated kids’ movie.
They were both wonderful.
It’sbeenwonderful—being able to cuddle with him on the couch, sneaking kisses (and sometimes not), holding his hand, our bodies brushing against each other as we cook or do dishes or fold laundry.
And best of all…
Sleeping beside him.
Even ifsleepingis all we’ve done.
After he’s made me come, that is.
When he gets home from this road trip later tonight, though?That’sgoing to change.
I need him—every part of him.
Which is something I shouldn’t be even remotely thinking about with his daughter in the back seat lobbing questions like missiles.
“I—” I cough once, then again. “Excuse me?”
Chloe blinks at me like I’m being difficult on purpose then unbuckles herself and hops down, her hand smoothing up and down my back.
And God, she’s such a good kid.
Except when she repeats, “Do you love my dad?”
I manage not to choke this time.
