Page 52 of The (Maybe) Murderer Who Knocked Me Up

“Me too! It’s my favorite.” She chatters on about the different kinds of macaroni and cheese, including her controversial opinion that the “box” macaroni and cheese is better than my homemade mac.

Sometimes we have to agree to disagree.

“I love your daddy’s cooking,” Slade says. “When we were in high school, he used to bake me bread. I would hide it in my room so I could eat the whole loaf myself.”

I never knew. Whenever I brought bread over, he acted like it wasn’t a big deal.

I guess there are a lot of things about Slade I didn’t know.

Chime smiles. “You knew Daddy in high school?”

“Yeah. We were neighbors.”

She starts talking about our neighbors, which takes a while because she includes the many animals in Aunt Emerald’s rescue. I reach for Slade’s hand underneath the table and squeeze it.

His eyes jerk up to mine in surprise. I guess I’m being a little forward in front of our daughter.

“Lester is a goat. He is not a nice goat. It’s because he has trauma,” Chime says.

Slade tries to hold back a laugh, but fails. I end up laughing with him. Chime glares at us both.

“Trauma is bad,” she says.

Slade tries to make a straight face. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Being a goat is a hard life,” she explains.

He nods, still trying, and not succeeding, to stop smiling. God, I love this. It’s so fun to share Chime’s quirks with her other dad.

It’s a good thing Slade isn’t dangerous, because I don’t think I can send him away.

25

SLADE

At Sciff, time was this eternal, heavy thing that dragged on and on. In Quin’s little house, it flies away at the speed of light. One moment Chime is twirling in her dress, and the next, she’s brushing her teeth for bed. She disappears into her bedroom for the night, and I’m left outside while Quin sings her a song. Apparently, raccoon shifter children sleep in their animal form, so it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to come inside.

Unless Chime knew who I was, of course. Quin said she would someday, but how far away will that day be? I’ve already lost so much time with her. I feel greedy for more of her twirls and rants about traumatized goats. And seeing her as a raccoon? My heart aches for that almost as much as I ache to claim Quin as my own.

When Quin steps outside of Chime’s room, I’m still waiting in the hallway. I know I should have gone back to the living room and sat on the couch or started washing the dishes, but my control is slipping. The moment he closes the door, I cup his jaw and kiss him with a greediness I know I don’t deserve. I’m not allowed to need anything from Quin. I just can’t help it. And itisn’t just sex I need, it’s the way my soul comes alive every time I get a taste of his sweet sunshine.

I force myself to break away from the kiss. “I’m sorry.”

He wraps his arms around my waist and holds me close. I succumb to temptation and close my arms around him, too. My inner alpha surges up, too powerful for me to control. He wants to bond with Quin so badly. The ache for a connection with him is agony.

“Let’s go outside,” Quin says.

I reluctantly release him. He’s right. We can’t do this just outside Chime’s door.

He takes my hand and guides me out onto the front deck. The summer night is warm and surprisingly quiet. Normally, the cicadas are loud in Texas. But instead of their constant chirping, I hear the tinkling of wind chimes.

Quin sits on a wooden bench swing at the end of the porch and pats the space next to him. I glance at the brackets holding the swing up, not sure if they’ll bear my weight. But I sense this is important to Quin, so I sit down anyway. The swing groans, but it holds.

He leans his head against my upper arm. He’s too short to lean against my shoulder. I slide my arm across his back and pull him close, until he’s leaning against my chest instead. The gentle pressure of his cheek against my pec is wonderful.

“You don’t seem angry with me,” he says.

“Should I be?”

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