Page 46 of Those Two Words

I know I’m sending mixed messages when I take her hand in mine, but I can’t bear for us to part ways like this. “Nothing about you is a mess, and I meant what I said earlier—I want to be there for you. What happened just then can’t happen again, though. There’s so much at stake with the restaurant.”

“The restaurant?” she asks with a tilt of her head, challenge burning in her eyes.

I’m an open book to her, and she sees right through that pathetic excuse. It’s not just the restaurant; it’s also my daughter and my heart at stake.

When I don’t answer, she yanks her hands away and throws them up in exasperation. “Patrick, can I please remind you that you’re the one who kissed me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I can’t let whatever is happening between us distract me. I have so much on my plate. But I also can’t do it again.”

“Do what again?” she asks.

“To know what it’s like to have you and then find out it’s too good to be true. I care about you so much, but losing you again isn’t something I think I can survive. I’ve got to keep my priorities in order, and right now, they’re Lottie and the restaurant.”

Her eyelids flutter closed, and I watch as she takes a steadying breath. I know the honesty in my words hurts her. They hurt me.

When they open, I’m met with a blank stare as she nods slowly and swallows. “Thank you for last night and for breakfast.”

“I don’t want to leave it like this. Stay, we can talk this out, or at least let me drive you home,” I plead, but she holds up a hand.

“I think you’ve said enough for today. We both have, and I’d really like to go home.”

The finality in her words tells me it’s pointless fighting her on this, she’s made up her mind.

Ten minutes later, she’s climbing into a cab, and as I watch the car pull away, I worry we’ve gone right back to the beginning again.

I’ve been idling in my mom’s driveway for about twenty minutes, playing this afternoon over and over in my head. Another example where I haven’t thought my actions or words through, and acted on impulse. It seems every time we interact, I come away regretting something.

But not that kiss.

Because that kiss was everything and more.

The memories of our last kiss didn’t do this reunion any justice.

I can still taste her on my tongue. The subtle sweetness from her coffee and a taste I know only as Jo. The delicious moans she made when I backed her up against the desk, the way she clung to me and met my lips with as much zeal.

While my heart might be skipping in my chest, my brain is screaming at me to slow down, always in conflict with one another. I wish I knew which one I want to come out on top.

Deciding I’ve spent enough time stewing over what I said and did, I turn off the engine. The moment I shut the door behind me, a small body collides with me.

“Daddy!” a muffled voice shouts into my thigh. The chaos in my head vanishes the second I lift Lottie into my arms and squeeze her tight. “Ugh, you’re squishing me.”

“Sorry, spud, but you’re just so squishy.” I give her one last squeeze before pulling back to look at her. She grins up at me, her cheeky smile doing wonders for my mood. It also reminds me why drawing a line between Jo and me is the right thing to do. As much as Jo says she’s here to stay, I can’t let Lottie become attached to her. I have firsthand experience with how badly that can turn out.

“How are you today? Grandma said you’re feeling much better.” We walk up the path to the house, and I spot my mom, who’s watching us from the doorway.

“Uh-huh. The bugs is gone from my belly now. Were they like spiders?”

Laughing, I shake my head. “Not real bugs like you see in the forest, tiny ones that make us a bit sick sometimes. But you fought them off.” I poke her in the belly. “My big, strong girl.”

“Oh, man. I like bugs. Is JoJo feeling better? Grandma said she was sick too.”

I glance at my mom as we walk up the final step. “Umm, yeah, she wasn’t feeling too good either.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” My mom greets me and looks over at Lottie. “Hey, why don’t you go and finish that picture you started drawing for Johanna?”

“Okayyyyy,” she says excitedly, before wiggling out of my hold to run into the kitchen.

“Mom, you shouldn’t have said anything.” I follow to where she is walking into the living room.

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