Page 39 of Falling for the Single Daddy

“Uh, Cassandra,” I murmur, then go on. “Princess Cassandra wasn’t allowed to choose what she read, what she wore, or what she thought about, even. There was a big bad dragon called Josh… raka. Joshraka.” I’m not doing a great job at masking the fact I’m talking about my past, but it’s not like Emery will know.

Emery giggles. “That’s a funny name for a dragon.”

“He wasn’t a very funny dragon,” I tell her, turning to see Gray walking up and down and waving his hands in front of his face.

“What?” he says. “They’re supposed to be flames.”

I burst into laughter. Emery does, too.

“One day, Princess Cassandra decided she wanted to choose whatshewanted, so she ran away from the castle. But life was difficult outside the castle walls. She had to learn how to live on her own and how to make money. She had to learn to be strong when she felt scared. She had to learn to be tough. And that meant closing herself off.”

“Closing…” Emery narrows her eyes, her precocious expression telling me she’s calculating what I mean. “Like, not hugging or laughing or being fun?”

“Yes,” I say, proud of her. “Like that exactly. She said to herself,Dragon Joshraka controlled me because I had feelings, so I’m not going to have feelings anymore.But then she met her prince.”

My voice falters. I didn’t mean for any of this to come out, but I suppose that’s what happens when I don’t plan the story. I start revealing truths I’ve promised myself I’ll keep hidden. “The prince was funny. He was smart. He was talented. He washandsome.” Emery giggles again. “But most of all, what got Princess Cassandra about this prince was how easy everything felt with him. She never had totryto be happy with him. She didn’t have totryto laugh, to hug, to be fun. It just happened.”

Emery yawns, her eyes beginning to close. “And they lived happily ever after, right, Callie?”

She’s clearly ready for sleep. I won’t tell her the truth—that, in real life, it’s never as easy as that. “Yes, Emery, the prince and princess lived happily ever after.”

“Yippee,” she whispers, already drifting off.

In the hallway, I say, “I’m seriously jealous of her, being able to fall asleep like that. It’s like a superpower.”

Gray smirks, nodding. “I don’t know how she does it. But everything she does impresses me, anyway. How about you? Are you tired?”

“Gray…”

He takes a step forward. “Hey, Callie. I’m not some animal. You make me feel like one sometimes, but I’m not a complete beast. We could watch a movie or something.”

I look up at him; his handsome features and body so close to mine make me ache. Maybe wecouldjust watch a movie, and that’d be the end of it. But I can’t shake the notion that we’d both lose control at some point. I’d end up stroking my hand over his body. He’d slide his touch over my core again, rubbing my wetness, making thinking impossible.

“I’m going to bed,” I tell him. “Maybe another time.”

As I turn away, he says, “It’s a mistake every time we kiss, every time we touch. We both know that. But it never feels like one.”

“No,” I whisper. “It doesn’t.”

Chapter Nineteen

Gray

The next day, I meet Wes for lunch at a café. We sit at the window like we often do. Wes likes to watch the flow of the city's foot traffic. This is actually the first place we had coffee after he forgave me for what happened with his sister. Wes doesn’t know the whole truth about what happened there. He doesn’t know that I was almost blackout drunk and that she was sober. He’s never seemed to understand his sister’s sadistic side, and it’s never been my place to tell him.

“How are things with work?” he asks, blowing on his coffee.

I take a sip of mine despite the heat, letting it scald me, almost taking some comfort in it. It means I don’t have to think about Callie. It means I don’t have to obsess over her. Every moment since last night, she’s been in my thoughts. When I offered to watch the movie, and she said no, I could tell how difficult it was for her.

“Good,” I tell him. Work, at least, is going well. “How about you? You keeping yourself busy?”

“Always artists to wrangle,” Wes replies, nodding. “There’s always a gallery that needs paintings, always styles that need nurturing. Sloane called me this morning.”

From the way he says it, his sharp features drawing in, it’s clear that this is why he wanted to meet for lunch. Jorge’s car was gone this morning. I guess they must’ve stayed in Maplebrook. He probably woke up sober, took one look at Sloane, and disentangled himself from our messed-up situation as quickly as he could.

“Okay…” I wait for Wes to go on.

“Apparently, last night, you rubbed yours and Callie’s relationship in her face,” Wes speaks in a neutral tone, giving me no indication of whether or not he believes his older sister. “It seems that you made it clear to Emery—in front of Sloane—that Callie was far better for her. You made Sloane feel like an extra part with her own kid. An observer. These are all her words.”

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