I automatically tune in to what the acoustic band are playing. Without words, I struggle to recognise it, but I know it well enough to know it’s a recent chart-topper. It doesn’t strike me as Tay’s thing, but it’s all the encouragement Lottie needs to move, and I realise that was her goal. To recuse me from the will of a child… Go figure.
I watch them join the others dancing in the sand, but my gaze doesn’t leave Taylor. Her metallic-gold dress barely reaches mid-thigh and leaves little to the imagination, the firelight catching every curve as she spins, the hem flicking out with her hair, smile carefree and glowing.
She’s different out here. Away from work, from the bars and the cities…
Softer. Warmer. A lot like she was at Christmas.
And that feeling I had then – the tightening in my chest – flares again as I sip my drink and pretend I’m fine. Pretend I’mcapable of walking away when the time comes. Of giving up everything I want just to see her get her dream.
Lottie slips out from under Taylor’s hand as I watch, her joyful smile fading the moment her gaze hits me. She tugs on Tay’s hand, her little brow pulling together as she speaks.
I’m a pro at reading lips. It served me well as a kid, and even better as an adult. From the streets to security detail, reading any situation from afar, and knowing how to act and when to act. Staying one step ahead of any potential threat.
But I’ll be damned if I know how to act in this moment as one word lands crystal clear:
Lonely.
She thinks I look lonely.
Me.
If my men could see me now, they’d piss themselves laughing. Or stage a no-confidence vote. Or have me committed. And I wouldn’t blame them.
I take another swig from the bottle, masking one bitter taste with another, as Tay flashes me a grin, half-impish, half-knowing.
‘He’s fine, sweetheart.’ I watch her lips shape the words – like I ever needed an excuse to lose myself in them. ‘Axel doesn’t dance. He’s too… shy.’
I almost snort.Shy,my ass.
Lottie looks as stunned as my ego.
Then she balls her tiny fists and plants them on her hips, her stare turning determined.
Oh no…
She’s marching for me.
No fear. No hesitation.
That’s all me.
She doesn’t stop until she’s practically climbing my legs,her little fingers wrapping around my thumbs. Small. Warm. Certain.
‘Don’t be shy, Uncle G. We’ll help you.’
For one disorienting second, I don’t move. She’s never touched me before. Hell, grown adults rarely get to lay a finger on me. And they sure as shit don’t drag me anywhere. Yet here I am, being hauled to my feet by a four-year-old in pigtails.
That thing inside me – the part Tay’s been brushing up against since the day I met her; the part that’s always kept me steady, separate, apart – fractures a little more.
And I know Taylor’s watching, eyes alight with mischief and something softer I daren’t touch. So I bury it. The warmth. The unease. Neutralise my face as I lean forward and push my beer into the sand. One dance. For the kid. That’s all this is.
A triumphant Lottie drags me to Taylor with all the strength of a general leading an army, then grins up at me, proud as punch. ‘I got ’im, Aunt Tay-Tay.’
‘So you did, kiddo.’ Tay smiles, the flames from the fire dancing in her hazel depths. ‘If I’d known all it took was a determined four-year-old to get you on the dance floor, I would’ve employed one years ago.’
‘Zip it and dance, Stone.’
She folds her arms. ‘You first.’
