Page 52 of Anchor Point

The house looked the same, but it felt… different. There were smells and sounds to replace the normal quiet solitude. I stood with a good, long stretch and followed my nose to the kitchen.

Rosie flipped something in a pan while Olivia supervised. Their bond was sweet. It was in the way they met each other’s gaze, with soft smiles and gentle shoulder bumps. A deep longing to be in the middle of that scene bloomed in my chest. I wanted to be on the receiving end of those sweet smiles, those soft touches.

I hated to interrupt but also didn’t need to stand there creeping on their sentimental moment. An image of standing on the edges of Thoren and Leah’s conversation about Mrs. O’Malley flashed in my head. Was I always going to be on the outside looking in? But this felt different. This felt like they were mine. And I was theirs, and we were sharing a life. What would it be like to have Rosie and Olivia chatting and making my house a home long term?

I needed to respect their intimacy and go back to the couch. Maybe pick up my book or find a show to watch.

But I couldn’t drag myself away. I was inexplicably drawn to these two, so instead of doing the right thing, I interrupted my house guests. “Morning.”

They turned to me, and the happiness radiating from them sucked the breath from my lungs. I had the two most beautiful women in the world in my kitchen, and neither were truly mine.

Olivia’s expression fell as she took me in. I should probably wipe the scowl off my face.

Rosie broke the silence first with a giggle. “It’s noon, sleepyhead.” She rolled her eyes at Olivia. “And you thought I was bad.”

Olivia faked a smile and ruffled Rosie’s ponytail affectionately. “Those are ready to flip.” She turned to me. “Long night?”

I scratched the back of my head, wondering if she could see the balloon filling my chest. “Yeah. We ran thirteen calls from midnight to eight a.m.”

She nodded to the table, avoiding looking at me directly. “Well then, have a seat. Rosa Nell has prepared a treat for you.” Her smiles with Rosie had been as radiant as the sun shining through the windows, wrapping around my heart and replacing the thick sludge in my chest with something so light and sweet, I couldn’t dare to even think of it. Now that happiness was gone after one look at me. And all I wanted was to see it again.

So I sat.

Olivia brought me coffee, and Rosie served up a plate of the best-looking French toast I’d ever seen. My mouth watered. “This looks amazing, sweetheart.”

They both froze for half a second. And then fixed their own plates and joined me at the table.

“Not a bad brunch, is it, MacDaddy?” Rosie said around a mouthful.

The forkful of food I was shoveling into my face froze, suspended in mid-shovel.

“What did you call me?” All the blood drained from my head.

“MacDaddy.”

“You can’t call me that.” The words stuttered out.

“Rosie, you can’t call him that,” Olivia echoed.

“Sure I can. It’s who you are.” Rosie was the picture-perfect image of nonchalance, alternating between forkfuls of toast and bacon. “You’re Mac, and you’re my daddy.” This was said around a mouthful of bacon, and though her words were mumbled, they rang loud and clear. My fork landed on my plate, and I struggled to breathe. There was no way in hell this child could call me that. Now, her mom… yeah, I didn’t need to go there.

“Rosie, honey. I don’t know if Mac is ready for that just yet. You guys don’t really know each other that way yet,” Olivia said, her voice rigid as she tried to be the voice of reason. I couldn’t tell if she was mad or just had her guard up, but suddenly, between the stilted facial expressions and now the tone in her voice, it felt like she was wearing her ice-princess armor against me.

Rosie lifted a shoulder at her mother’s advice, still scarfing down food, oblivious to the riot she’d unleashed inside me and the tension brewing between me and Livvie. I kept my expression impassive but couldn’t manage to stop the tremble of my hand as I reached for a sip of coffee. I really could stand to add a shot of something stronger to this cup.

“It’s the truth, though. ’Sides, he already feels like more of my dad than that ass Tim ever did.”

I couldn’t stop the tug at the corner of my lips. My girl was always pushing her mother’s buttons.

My girl.

“Plus, Mac doesn’t mind, do you MacDaddy?” Rosie drew the words out, making the nickname sound ridiculous. But there was no way she could call me that; it sounded…wrong. All kinds of wrong.

I cleared my throat twice, trying to make an audible sound. “Rosie, kiddo.” I kept my voice gentle, because as much as the name made me uncomfortable, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. It was ironic that I was feeling this sentimental and emotional, that I was even considering her feelings when any other time in my life, I’d just say what I needed to say. Regardless, she was an impressionable young woman, and I needed to handle her with care.

“Sweetheart,” she prompted.

“You can’t call me sweetheart, either.”

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