Page 21 of If Only In Our Dreams

The first time someone called me over, saying, “I know you!” I had a genuine moment of panic, only to be shocked andgrateful when the man added, “You’re Miles’s brother. My kid loves his class.”

For once, it was nice to be recognized for something more than the music I no longer enjoyed making. I had what felt like a dozen encounters like that, over and over, till it was really hammered home that here—in Belleville—I was a fucking ghost.

Ben seemed to be the only person who knew who I was.

And therefore, flirting and scaring him was pushed to the back of my mind as I did my best to ward off the well-meaning townies and their many sugar-laced treats.

And by the time the party was winding down, the spiked eggnog had been emptied, and my belly was full of Christmas-flavored booze, I was more than ready for some alone time.

Which was why I was relieved as hell when Miles gave me the information for the room I’d asked him to book for me at the B&B downtown. Because he knew me—the little shit—he hadn’t tried to offer me his guest room. Which I appreciated a lot.

We both knew I needed space sometimes.

Not that I was looking forward to another sleepless night staring at floral, but still.

As I was wandering toward the back door to head outside for a breather—after my last shot of the night—I was chased down by a small cherubic little girl in black.

She stood with Beatrice, Miles’s mother-in-law, and her little blonde hair was in piggies. Her honey-colored eyes narrowed as she looked up at me, tiny hands clenched into fists.

“You swear lots,” she told me sagely. I nodded because I did. “You owe me lots of monies.”

Ah. Sothiswas Rosie.

Ben’s daughter.

I had the most ungodly urge to bite her chubby lil cheek ’cause she was cuter than shit, but didn’t. “How much, AlPacino?” I asked, pulling out my wallet, my movements a little sluggish from the booze.

Beatrice laughed, her dark eyes dancing as she stared at me appraisingly. “You don’t need to pay Rosie,” she said, amused.

“Yeah, I do.” I shrugged a shoulder, flipping through the black leather, looking for cash. I didn’t have a ton of options. A hundred dollar bill. A couple twenties. “How much, short-stop?”

“Short-stop?” She squinted up at me, face pinched. I licked my finger, wiggling through the bills with an eyebrow waggle. I waited patiently, curious to see what she’d say. She eyed the twenties, little lips pressed into a thin line.

“Yeah. ’Cause you’re short.”

“You’re abiggershort-stop,” she countered like the two-foot-tall badass she was.

What a comeback! Vicious as hell.

“Right in the kidneys,” I mock-gasped, still waiting. I don’t think sheactuallyexpected me to be willing to pay her because she looked pretty shocked. However, she got over that pretty quick, and her eyes started to glint like a dog watching a treat, set on my money.

“You swore thirty-seven times.” She blinked, her curly blonde lashes fluttering.

“I didn’t know babies could count,” I muttered under my breath, amused as I grabbed both my twenties and handed them over. She very carefully took the bills, folding them and shoving them in the front of her dress like she expected me to take them back. “Keep the change.”

“I’mnota baby,” Rosie told me, her brow furrowed and eyes full of the fury of a thousand suns. “I’m four.”

“My bad.” I held up my hands to placate her.

Beatrice stared at me, amused. “You are awildone,” she decided after a moment as Rosie grinned evilly down at hermoney, like a fucking black-frill-wearing Scrooge. She seemed happy now that she’d robbed me.

I’d known very few toddlers in my life. I’d only gotten to see Bubba like twice when he was that age, and I’d been half comatose after a tour both times. My retention of that time was not great.

Maybe all toddlers were maniacal bankers.

“Where’s your sister?” I asked, before she could walk away. Ben had mentioned having two daughters.

Instead of answering, Rosie simply stared up at me with those huge fucking eyes and said, “no.”

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