Page 56 of Resolute

I want to be the man she turns to, the one who stands between her and the rest of the world.

I want to be the reason she feels untouchable, the steady hand at her back, that voice that reminds her she’s never alone.

Her guardian.

Her knight in shining armor.

“Camila. Where to?” I ask.

She gets all flustered, and I berate myself. I need to stop talking like I’m upset all the time. If I want her to trust me, I need to stop being an arsehole.

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry. I made reservations at Annata,” she says as I drive us out of the carpark and into the Mayfair traffic.

I didn’t tell her which restaurant to pick, but I’m glad she chose something she felt comfortable with. The food at Annata is superb.

“Ava sent you something,” she says as she takes a pink piece of paper out of her bag. “I wasn’t sure if it was okay to give it to you, but since we’re not in the office, I figured I’d try.”

I smile at her and take the paper from her hands when we hit a red light.

There are three stick figures on a sofa. The tallest—which I think is me—is drawn in black crayon, probably because I was wearing a black suit yesterday. The one I think is Camila is in pink, and the smallest figure, sketched in blue and has pink bows, sits between us.

It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen, but warmth spreads through me at the thought of me making an impact in this little girl’s life.

She has already changed mine.

Would she still like me if I asked her Mum to marry me?

Would I be a good father figure for her?

Before meeting them, never in my life did I think about creating a family. But the way these two warm my heart—so easily, so unexpectedly—makes me think that maybe…just maybe…this feeling isn’t so strange after all.

Maybe it’s exactly what I’ve been missing.

I don’t want to let them go.

“She said that was a picture of the three of us yesterday,” Camila says softly, pulling me from my thoughts. “She was thrilled to have you with us, but you don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to.”

She makes a move to take the paper from my hand, but I immediately move it toward my door and tuck it in the holder, safe and secure.

“Oh no, I’m definitely keeping it. No one has ever painted something for me,” I say honestly, and her smile widens.

The light turns green, and I focus on driving.

When we get to the restaurant, I park on the street and glance her way. Her fingers trace small, nervous patterns on her skirt, an endearing gesture I hadn’t anticipated.

“Stay put,” I say low, but a little rougher than I intended.

She looks up, her brows drawing together, but she doesn’t argue.

I step out, then walk around the car and open the door for her. When she gives me her hand, I interlock our fingers. And even though she looks confused, she doesn’t remove her hand from my hold.

We both must feel the current coursing through our veins, because our hands jerk in unison.

I chuckle but don’t release her.

She gives me a timid smile, but the flush on her cheeks tells me she’s feeling this too.

“Good afternoon Mr. Godoy. Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asks with a polite smile.

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