reaches around my body to the car door. With his fingers curled around the door handle, he leans his face toward mine. “Then why,” he whispers, “don’t you look at me when you tell me?”
I avert my eyes to the side, saying nothing. He’s standing so close to me, and he smells good. Like, really good. Like coffee and cinnamon—warm and comforting. Nothing like the harsh cologne Matthew used to wear, and definitely nothing like the whiskey and cigarette smoke he occasionally smelled like.
“Huh?” he prompts, his voice still a gentle breezing whisper. “That’s what I thought.”
“Leave it alone,” I reply, finally bringing my eyes to meet his. They’re burning into me, thrilling and scary, and it’s all I can do to ignore the shiver that cascades its way down my spine. “Please,” I finish quieter.
“Never.” He steps forward. There’s barely a breath of space between our bodies, and my heart is pounding double time, but I don’t know why, because this is wrong, he’s wrong. “I will get it out of you, Ella Dawson. I’m dyin’ to know why a pretty little city girl like you is slumming it on a tour bus with a boy band. And, darlin’ . . .” He runs his thumb along my jaw. “I will get it out of you, even if you’re on your back beneath me when I do.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Still not happening.”
“The telling or the fucking?”
Defiantly, I stare at him, despite the quivering of my hands. “Neither.”
M ila is hands down the sweetest little girl in the world. After she demolished every inch of paper on her present from me, she clapped her hands to her cheeks and gasped. Seconds later, she launched herself at me for a giant “skeezy hug.” Which is apparently a really, really tight squeeze around your neck.
Everyone got the same treatment as she made her way through the stack of presents in the corner, but Tate won the battle of the gifts. The life-size Olaf—which is bigger than the birthday girl—almost reduced her to tears, she was so excited.
Now she’s sitting on the sofa next to me, with Frozen on the giant plasma-screen TV, explaining every scene to me. Well, as good as a toddler can.
“Ven! Ven!” She claps her hands excitedly. “Ahh, Ven! Get Anna! Go, go!”
I glance down at her and smile. “Does he get her?”
She looks at me and sighs. “Watch, Ella. Watch.” She points vigorously.
“Okay, okay.”
Tate perches on the arm of the sofa next to me. “You get the story yet?”
I jump at his sudden arrival, then nod. “I’m going to move to Norway and find my own Olaf.”
“Don’t bother. Mila already convinced me to be Olaf for Halloween.”
My lips form a grin, and I turn my face toward him. “For real?”
He shrugs. “She agreed to let me be zombie Olaf.”
“Unbelievable.” I laugh as Conner calls for Mila. She whines in protest until he mentions the c-word—“candy.” I’ve quickly come to realize that Mila’s absolute favorite thing in the world is Sour Patch Kids, and that Conner always seems to have a stash of them somewhere around his person. He uses them for anything, including bribery.
Hey, it works. I’m not judging. I’ll probably do the same one day if I ever have kids.
Mila climbs down from the sofa and runs across the room to where he’s standing.
“Hey!” Tate shouts, sitting up straight. “Where you goin’?”
“Dadda,” Mila answers simply, her hand clasped around her bunny’s ear.
“Uh, where’s my kiss?”
Her eyes widen and she toddles back over, trailing her rabbit. Mila stops in front of Tate, lifts her rabbit, and presses its mouth against his. I cover my mouth with my hands as she skips away laughing manically.
Tate gets up, and in a few long strides, swoops Mila up and over his shoulder on her back. “That wasn’t a kiss, Mimi! Was it?”
“Was too! Bunna kiss!” She attempts to make kissy noises, but it’s completely overshadowed by her ear-ringing shriek when Tate blows
I avert my eyes to the side, saying nothing. He’s standing so close to me, and he smells good. Like, really good. Like coffee and cinnamon—warm and comforting. Nothing like the harsh cologne Matthew used to wear, and definitely nothing like the whiskey and cigarette smoke he occasionally smelled like.
“Huh?” he prompts, his voice still a gentle breezing whisper. “That’s what I thought.”
“Leave it alone,” I reply, finally bringing my eyes to meet his. They’re burning into me, thrilling and scary, and it’s all I can do to ignore the shiver that cascades its way down my spine. “Please,” I finish quieter.
“Never.” He steps forward. There’s barely a breath of space between our bodies, and my heart is pounding double time, but I don’t know why, because this is wrong, he’s wrong. “I will get it out of you, Ella Dawson. I’m dyin’ to know why a pretty little city girl like you is slumming it on a tour bus with a boy band. And, darlin’ . . .” He runs his thumb along my jaw. “I will get it out of you, even if you’re on your back beneath me when I do.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Still not happening.”
“The telling or the fucking?”
Defiantly, I stare at him, despite the quivering of my hands. “Neither.”
M ila is hands down the sweetest little girl in the world. After she demolished every inch of paper on her present from me, she clapped her hands to her cheeks and gasped. Seconds later, she launched herself at me for a giant “skeezy hug.” Which is apparently a really, really tight squeeze around your neck.
Everyone got the same treatment as she made her way through the stack of presents in the corner, but Tate won the battle of the gifts. The life-size Olaf—which is bigger than the birthday girl—almost reduced her to tears, she was so excited.
Now she’s sitting on the sofa next to me, with Frozen on the giant plasma-screen TV, explaining every scene to me. Well, as good as a toddler can.
“Ven! Ven!” She claps her hands excitedly. “Ahh, Ven! Get Anna! Go, go!”
I glance down at her and smile. “Does he get her?”
She looks at me and sighs. “Watch, Ella. Watch.” She points vigorously.
“Okay, okay.”
Tate perches on the arm of the sofa next to me. “You get the story yet?”
I jump at his sudden arrival, then nod. “I’m going to move to Norway and find my own Olaf.”
“Don’t bother. Mila already convinced me to be Olaf for Halloween.”
My lips form a grin, and I turn my face toward him. “For real?”
He shrugs. “She agreed to let me be zombie Olaf.”
“Unbelievable.” I laugh as Conner calls for Mila. She whines in protest until he mentions the c-word—“candy.” I’ve quickly come to realize that Mila’s absolute favorite thing in the world is Sour Patch Kids, and that Conner always seems to have a stash of them somewhere around his person. He uses them for anything, including bribery.
Hey, it works. I’m not judging. I’ll probably do the same one day if I ever have kids.
Mila climbs down from the sofa and runs across the room to where he’s standing.
“Hey!” Tate shouts, sitting up straight. “Where you goin’?”
“Dadda,” Mila answers simply, her hand clasped around her bunny’s ear.
“Uh, where’s my kiss?”
Her eyes widen and she toddles back over, trailing her rabbit. Mila stops in front of Tate, lifts her rabbit, and presses its mouth against his. I cover my mouth with my hands as she skips away laughing manically.
Tate gets up, and in a few long strides, swoops Mila up and over his shoulder on her back. “That wasn’t a kiss, Mimi! Was it?”
“Was too! Bunna kiss!” She attempts to make kissy noises, but it’s completely overshadowed by her ear-ringing shriek when Tate blows
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