Page 11 of My Reluctant Valentine

"They're... family. Real family."

Something in her voice makes me lookcloser."That surpriseyou?"

"So far, everything about you surprises me." I fight a smile while handing her an helmet, but she clocksit."Don't go smiling yet, 'Prez'.I never said the surprises weregood.

Laughing, I hop on the bike and offer a hand to help her joinme.

Emma's reaction to finding Leslie in our kitchen is purejoy."Miss Leslie! Are you staying fordinner?Can you read me a story? Did you see my newbike?"

"Breathe, princess." But I can't help smiling at herexcitement."How about we let Miss Leslie answer one question at atime?"

"Actually," Leslie kneels to Emma's level, "I was hoping you might help me makedinner.Your daddy tells me you're the best helper in thekitchen."

Emma's whole face lights up. "Can we make mac andcheese?The real kind, not the boxkind?"

"Only if you promise to show me where everythingis.This kitchen's bigger than my wholehouse."

I lean against the doorframe, watching themwork.Emma's perched on a stool, carefully grating cheese while Leslie stirs something on thestove.They move around each other like they've done this a hundred times, talking about everything andnothing.

This is dangerous. This glimpse of what couldbe.

"Daddy!" Emma's voice pulls meback."Can Miss Leslie put me to bedtonight?She does all the voices better thanyou."

The request hits me in thegut.Not because I'm jealous--though part of me is--but because of how right itfeels.

"Please?" Emma adds when I don't answer rightaway.

"'Course, princess. If Miss Leslie doesn'tmind."

"I'd love to." Leslie's voice issoft.Understanding.

Later, I lean in the doorway while Leslie reads, doing voices for each character just like Emmasaid.When she tucks mydaughter in, smoothing her hair back just like her own mother used to, something in my chest cracksopen.

"Daddy?" Emma callssleepily."Can Miss Leslie come over againtomorrow?"

Leslie freezes. I step forward, dropping a kiss on Emma'shead."We'll see, princess. Sleeptight."

In the hallway, Leslie won't meet myeyes."I shouldgo."

"Stay." The word comes out rougher thanintended."Please."

She looks up then, and the vulnerability in her eyes matches the ache in mychest.

"Ace..."

"Just a drink." I touch her face, unable to helpmyself."We should talk about tomorrowanyway.Make our storyconvincing."

"Right." She leans into my touch. "Our fake story."

But there's nothing fake about the way she fits against me when I pull herclose.Nothing pretend in how her breath catches when I brush my lips across hertemple.

"One drink," she agreessoftly.

One drink turns into two, into her curled on my couch telling me about her students, into me sharing club stories that make herlaugh.When she finally falls asleep against my shoulder, I know I'm introuble.

Because watching her with Emma, seeing her with my club, hearing her laugh at my stories--it's allreal.Tooreal.

This woman's getting under my skin, into my club, into my daughter's heart.And I'm starting to think I don't want her toleave.

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