Page 219 of A Song for You

I swallow, at a loss for words, unsure whether the right ones even exist. But I know Chloe, so the right answer slips out anyway. “She will. The iPod idea was sweet, by the way.”

“You two have your own little language. I want something like that.”

I can’t help the laugh that slips out at his despondent expression. “It’s not our own little language, Jay. It’s French. An entire country speaks it along with us, as do the Canadians.”

He laughs and turns shyly toward the hallway again. “You know what I mean.”

I smile. “I do.”

Jay studies me before slipping his hands back into his pockets. “I’ll let you get to bed. When can I see her again?”

“Whenever you want. You’re her father, Jay. I’m not going to stand between the two of you. I want you to get to know one another.”

He gives me that boyish grin again. “And what about her mother? When can I finally take you on a date?”

I shrug. “My calendar is pretty full right now. Lots of dates coming up, so I’m not sure.”

Jay lunges for me and grasps me around the middle, tickling me. “Fake dates,” he reminds me.

“Oh, I know. Wouldn’t want you to have to hurt anyone else,” I tease, but we both sober at my words.

Jay palms my cheeks and then kisses each one. “How many bedrooms does this place have anyway?” he asks.

Surprised by the question, I squint at him. “Two, why?”

Jay pulls me in for a hug, and his laughter tickles my ear. “Just figuring out where I’ll stay when we finally announce our engagement,” he teases, pulling back and waggling his brows. “Roomie.”

I roll my eyes and guide him to the door.

“One-bed tropes are my favorite, Kitten.”

“Go home, you fool.” I laugh as I push him out the door.

Before I can shut it, he hauls me into the hall, presses me against the wall, and kisses me. He licks at my lips until I let him in with a moan, then grinds against me. “Soon, Kitten,” he mutters against my lips, “soon this will be my home.”

Forty-Nine

Cat

Your Song by Elton John

I’m still getting used to being responsible for getting another human up and moving in the morning. Every day is a mad rush to shower, get dressed, make sure Chloe’s dressed, pack lunches, and somehow find time to gulp down a liberal dose of caffeine before we’re out the door. I don’t know how anyone does this with more than one child. Or smaller children.

I’m still blow drying my hair five minutes before we have to leave to get her on the bus. She rushes into the bathroom, iPod in hand, shrieking, but I can’t understand a word because of the hair dryer.

With a toothbrush in her mouth, she pushes it toward me. “He sent me a song” is what I think she says.

Turning the hair dryer off, I give her my attention. “Oh yeah?”

She presses one earbud into my ear and the other into hers and hits Play. Looking down at the iPod screen, she narrows her gaze. “Elton John?”

Smiling, with tears in my eyes, I take her hand and watch as she listens to the words of “Your Song.”

Sophie appears at my door at nine a.m. with two cups of coffee in hand. Holding one high, she struts inside, her eyes glittering with excitement. “This is all yours if you spill how last night went.”

Huffing a laugh, I hold out a hand, motioning to the chair opposite my desk.

She slides one cup of coffee onto my desk and plops down, bouncing in anticipation.