Page 217 of A Song for You

“Kitten?” Chloe asks, her nose scrunching.

A breathy laugh leaves my throat, and I shake my head at Jay. He’s sporting a grin and wiping his hands with his napkin in satisfaction.

“Your mom never told you that’s her nickname?”

The way he continues to call me her mom and the way he smiles at me and our daughter shreds all my defenses. I’m putty in this man’s hands, and he knows it.

She shakes her head. “She did tell me she refused to give you her name the first time you met.”

Jay throws his head back and guffaws. “Pretty sure that’s the moment I fell in love,” he says. His irises glitter, pulling me under his spell.

Chloe’s smile says it all. She’s enjoying herself.

“And when I finally caught her name, I told her I thought she seemed more like a Kitten than a Cat.”

I laugh. “And the name stuck.”

Jay cocks a brow. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

Shaking my head, I try to fight back a grin, but it’s no use. “You told me you fell in love with me when I punched you.”

Chloe cackles at that. “What?”

In response, Jay only shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.”

“But why did you punch him?” Chloe asks with a mouth full of pizza.

“Because he grabbed me as I was walking off the train, and I didn’t know it was him.”

Chloe purses her lips and nods like that makes complete sense. Good, at least she knows what to do if a stranger approaches.

“Frappadingue,” she whispers.

All I can do is laugh in agreement.

“Wait, what did she say?” Jay asks.

Chloe giggles as I reply, “She called you crazy. Or, more accurately, a nutcase.”

Jay glowers at us, and we both giggle.

“How’d you get her to talk to you?” she asks.

He rubs his thumb over his lip and smirks. “I gave her a song.”

“No,” I retort. “You stole my iPod. Then you gave me a song.”

Chloe gasps and drops her crust onto her plate. “You stole her iPod?”

“And wiped her entire playlist. The only songs she could listen to were the ones I put on there.”

We smile at one another across the table. They’re soft and goofy and probably cheesy as hell. But the comfort of returning to the past in this way is like finding a favorite teddy bear to cuddle with in bed.

I want to be cheesy with him. I want to be cheesy with them both.

“Which song did you give her?” Chloe asks.

“‘Poker Face’ by Lady Gaga,” I tell her. “I still don’t know why you picked that.”