Page 56 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

Even as Quinn responds, the tapping of a keyboard in the background ensures me she already started the task.

“I’m a six-minute cab drive from them. I’ll make it two. I’d better not be the first one there,” I snarl and hang up the phone as I reach the curb.

The previous cabbie hasn’t pulled away yet, most likely hoping for another fare from an employee of the ritzy building. His bushy brows rise in surprise, but he doesn’t complain when I toss an even bigger wad of cash through the slot.

I name the park Millie said they were visiting and promise clearer instructions as I pull up the app for the GPS tracker hidden in Lola’s shoe. The man whips into traffic before I even slam my door.

He commits a heinous number of traffic violations, and potentially a few felonies, but he arrives in record time.

I toss more cash at him and launch myself out of the vehicle. After darting across the sidewalk, I check my phone and run toward the little red dot into the park. My legs burn, but I push past a group of clueless assholes and pour on more speed.

I sprint up the grassy hill and skid to a stop next to a familiar pair of toddler sneakers. Terror seizes my diaphragm.

I’m too late.

Chapter 17

Millie Grant

With the sun streaming down on us and Lola’s face beaming with excitement, I walk down the well-kept path hand in hand with the little girl I’ve grown to love more than I thought possible. The last few days have been heaven on earth. Spending time with Lola and Artur has been more fulfilling and peaceful than I care to admit.

I never imagined life could be this wonderful. It almost feels too good to be true.

The beautiful weather only adds a surreal edge to the day. After the airports and plane rides, the fresh air and lack of a crowd make the picnic a wonderful choice.

If only Artur were here. Then it would be perfect.

I steer the stroller off the path and onto the lawn, but the grass proves too thick to continue pushing it with one hand, so I stop and ask Lola if she’ll help me. My sweet, strong girl grabs the lower bar with one hand, slips her thumb into her mouth, and walks in the space between me and the stroller. With her help, I find a suitable spot near a tree and lay out the blanket, half in the sun and half in the shade.

Even though she most likely won’t eat more than a bite or two, Lola leads the food set up until everything we brought—except the diaper bag with her formula and feeding tube supplies—sits in the middle of the blanket.

She’s too smart. Artur commented that they’d never even considered a picnic before, but children always know more than adults expect. I mentioned it once the first time we went to the park together on our trip, and she must have observed every couple and family having a picnic since.

She plops down on the blanket and reaches for a bright purple juice box. I smile. I had a feeling she’d be interested in the packaging enough to maybe take a sip, but the thought of forcing her to try something she has no interest in curdles my stomach. I may never know what her abuser did to make eating such a struggle for her, but I’ll do everything I can to help her through it.

She hands me the juice box with an expectant look as I sit down. I chuckle and show her how to open and insert the straw. With her thumb still in her mouth, she takes the juice.

I grab one for myself and enjoy a sip. She slips her thumb free and lifts her straw to her mouth. After the tiniest of sips, she scrunches her nose and sets the box down.

When she hands me a green juice box, I laugh and guide her through inserting the straw on her own.

She relentlessly tries over half the dishes before losing interest in the food and turning her attention to the birds and squirrels.

I study the lawn. It’s one of the nicest in New York City, with very little chance of pet droppings or garbage. The grass is lush. We’re visiting before the typical evening rush, so there aren’t many people around. The excitement in Lola’s eyes as she watches the squirrels scamper through the grass and climb up and down the tree trunks solidifies my decision.

I take off my socks and shoes and extend my feet over the edge of the blanket. Lola looks at me as though I lost my mind, but her curiosity wins, and she tugs at her pink custom-made sneakers. She struggles but refuses help, and she beams with pride and satisfaction when she finally pulls off her socks and shoes. I return her smile and wiggle my toes in the grass. Tiny feet join mine.

Lola gasps and pulls her feet back, lifts and twists her ankle to inspect the bottom of her foot, shrugs, then puts her foot in the grass again.

I wiggle my toes. She does the same. I sweep my soles through the grass. So does she.

It tickles. She giggles, and I laugh.

Her happiness is contagious. I rise and offer her my hand. She stands on the blanket, grabs my hand, and takes a tentative step away from the blanket. Wonder brightens her eyes.

A few minutes later, breathless from running and laughing, we collapse in a heap of limbs by the trunk of the tree. She climbs into my lap, wraps both arms around my neck, and kisses my cheek before bouncing away.

Honored by the highest compliment she could’ve ever given me, I use the tree to push myself to my feet. A hand clamps around my nape. I freeze.