Page 22 of Enticing

I smile at my horrifically inappropriate thought, thinking back to all those Sundays spent in church, trying to remember if Peter and Paul were saints or apostles and eventually decide it doesn’t matter. Either way, that thought is going into one of my books because it’s too good not to use. I might be going to hell, but the line is going to stay. I add it to my notebook, then quickly slam it closed as Izzy walks into my room.

“Mom...” she whines, with a smear of chocolate covering her cheek, giving away exactly what she’d been doing before coming in here. “I’m bored.”

I push away from my desk, where I’ve basically been writing any extra second I can find this weekend. Because when inspiration strikes, you harness that bitch for all it’s worth. Apparently, my inspiration comes in the form of an incredibly gorgeous six-foot-four-inch hockey hottie whose velvety voice I hear in my mind even when he’s texting me. My knees crack as I squat in front of my daughter and run my thumb over her chocolatey cheek.

Such an old-ass twenty-five-year-old.

Thanksgiving looked different this year than it had for her in the past, so I did my best to make the long weekend as exciting and adventure-filled as possible. We baked. We explored Gran’s attic for old Christmas decorations and decorated the house. And today was spent in front of the fireplace, watching a holiday movie marathon on TV that started withThe Polar Expressand worked its way through basically every animated holiday movie I’d ever seen.

One of the worst things about having to start over is having to make new traditions when you liked the ones you already had, so I basically cheated. I took our old traditions and made them look new and exciting for Izzy’s sake while Lennox chilled, strapped to my chest in a carrier.

Have baby, will travel.

“Izz... it’s almost time for bed, and you’ve got school tomorrow. Are you bored or are you tired?” I ask, knowing already that it’s the latter, but wanting her to come to her own conclusion.

She plays with the braid that’s lying over her shoulder, debating how she wants to answer me. The deep dimple in herright cheek popping hard. “Can we call Aunt Cori before I go to bed?”

Always my little negotiator.

“Do you promise not to fight me about going to bed?” I counter because it’s never just an easy win with this kid. I wish I had a tenth of her strength.

Her left dimple comes out to match the right one with her triumphant smile, and she climbs on the pink velvet couch Gran has had in this office for as long as I can remember. “Deal.”

I grab the iPad and FaceTime Cori, who answers after a few rings. “Hey, sissy,” she smiles as she flops on her bed.

“Hi, Aunt Cori,” Izzy answers before I can. “We missed you.”

“I missed you too, Izz-a-boo. But I’ve only got a few more weeks before the semester is over and I get to come visit. Did you have a fun Thanksgiving?” Cori’s words are meant for Izz, but she’s looking at me when she asks. She wanted to come here for the holiday, but I wouldn’t let her. She doesn’t have the extra money to spend, and there was no sense going into credit card debt just to see us for the weekend when her semester ends soon and she’ll have to get back up here for winter break.

I settle in on the couch and get Lennox situated to nurse, listening to Izzy and Cori’s conversation and knowing I did something right.

My girls are happy.

They’re safe.

And most importantly, they’ll never know a life where they aren’t.

At least, if I can figure out a way to get through the next year I have to wait to start getting the royalties on the book I published a few months ago.

Why the hell did I decide to go with traditional publishing and not just publish independently? At least then I’d control everything myself.

I close my eyes and kiss Lennox’s sweet-smelling head, lulled into a rare moment of pure peace as Izzy excitedly tells Cori all about our weekend adventures, and Lennox wraps her tiny hand around my finger.

Izzy fills Cori in on everything, not skipping a single detail until she’s playing with her hair and yawning, and my sweet sister hangs on her every word, letting Izz tire herself out.

Every word that is, until my daughter mentions the guest we had over for dinner earlier last week.

“Wait.” Cori’s voice catches excitedly.

Shit.

“Back up, Izz.Whocame to dinner?” Cori asks, and never skipping a beat, my feral little five-year-old lies down, with her head on my lap and looks up at me upside down with a devious smile on her lips.

“Coach Leo did. Aren’t you listening, Auntie?”

Fuck me.

“Coach Leo...” Cori drags out, and I shift Lennox to my shoulder to burp and maybe also to hide my face from my sister’s all-too-observant eyes. Yup, I’m a coward, using my kid. Go ahead and judge me. “Your hockey coach?”

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