Page 72 of Stables

Get it together. He isn’t pushing me, I don’t know why I can’t just give in.

It’s like he knows me better than I know myself.

“Shh, Paisley. You’ll wake up Dixon.” I follow her towards the kitchen, but narrowly miss stopping her from diverting towards the living room.

“Dixon! Daddy Dixon!” She runs towards the couch, and wastes no time climbing up into the low cushion to lay on his chest.

Oh my god.

His arm encircles her before his eyes open. “Good morning, princess.” His voice is husky. “But it’s just ‘Dixon’.” He smiles, cracking one caramel colored iris open to look up at me.

“Uh uh, daddy Dixon.” Paisley flattens her palms and pushes herself up to sit squarely over his ribs. “Libby said.”

“I’m sorry, Libby was being silly.” I reach down and slide my hands under her armpits to lift her off, but Dixon waves me off.

“It’s fine.” His fingers wrap over my palm, then doesn’t let go. “I’ll earn that title one of these days.” The corner of his mustache twitches as his thumb works over my wrist in a burning path before releasing me.

Wait, did he just say what I think he did?

My jaw drops open, but I close it soundlessly. How do I even respond to that?

“What can I help you with, princess?” Dixon doesn’t seem to notice the conflict I’m in just a few feet away from him.

“Hungry. Shrimp, please.” She folds her hands under her jaw and giggles. “Daddy Dixon.” Laughing at her own joke, she rolls to the back of the couch.

His deep chuckle joins her. “Oh, you liked that? As you wish.”

Kicking off his blanket, he stands, hoisting her to his side.

Damn, he looks so good with his broad bare chest and tight jeans.

How does he sleep in those?

I really miss the boxer-briefs.

Libby’s voice crackles through my head. “If you’d pull him into bed, he wouldn't need anything.”

Thewhat-if’sare the only thing holding me back.

They’re doozies though.

I don’t think I’d survive another man like Matt.

It’s a terrifying truth. I’m not even sure I’ll make it out alive with him.

So why am I still holding back from Dixon?

What if there’s no tomorrow?

Watching him move effortlessly through the kitchen with my messy-haired little girl smiling on his hip as he makes her breakfast should be one of the best moments of my life.

But I’m scared I’ll screw things up. And now I have her to think about.

I wish I had a crystal ball to see the future.

For some reason, in every version I can fathom, he’s in it.

Maybe I should just sayfuck it, and try?

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