Page 126 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

Her eyes widen. “My dad?”

I nod.

“Yeah. Faith comes every morning. She has him on a routine. It’s like clockwork.”

I reach across the counter and grab two pieces of bacon off the pan, adding one to my plate and one to hers. “You’re moving in with me.”

She tilts her head. “Ace.”

I quirk an eyebrow.

“I have to be theresometimes.”

“Why?”

“Faith isn’t there round the clock. That’s expensive.”

“So put him in a home and be done with it." I shrug. "Or roll his ass off a cliff.”

She frowns with the top of her face and smiles with the bottom. “Are you serious right now?”

“Am Inotsupposed to hate that nigga and want him gone?”

She watches me devour my bacon, handing hers over when I’m done. “He’s not a threat. He can’t even walk.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“Besides,” she says softly. “Believe it or not, I’m…traditional.”

“What does that mean?” I say.

“I don’t want to live with a man who’s not my husband. Or at least my fiancé.”

I snicker at that. “So we back lyin’ again?”

Her eyes flash with anger. “I’m serious. It’s just always how I saw things going for me. We’re not even together anymore.”

She lets that hang in the air, and I know her well enough now to know it’s game. But our relationship status isn’t important to me right now. Her safety is.

“How much to have old girl stay around the clock?”

“A lot,” she says. “And I’d have to apply for it. It’s a whole process.”

I blow out a breath, my wheels turning. “Alright, until we figure this out, I want you to stay with me at night. Just so I know you’re safe. So you can sleep easy. You can stay in the guest room if you want.”

She pretends to think about it while I gather up our plates.

“I’ma Uber up to the site to get my car,” I say. “Going forward, you can drive mine when you need it.”

She tilts her head. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

I inhale slowly and blow it out. “I care about you,” I answer. “I think you need somebody in your corner.”

She nods. “Those are the only reasons?”

I rinse off our plates before delivering them to the dishwasher. “We’re not back together, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She says, “Okay,” in a small voice, and I resist the urge to reassure her. Truth is, I don’t even know what this is. I’m operating on pure instinct right now.

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