Page 88 of Bourbon and Secrets

It takes just under two hours and there’s glitter everywhere. Hair and arms, counters and pillowcases. All fifteen girls have some variation of sparkles on their eyelids. Half are having a dance party in the center of the living room, while the other group is trying to figure out if it was Mrs. Peacock with the wrench or Professor Plum with the daggers. But somehow, the entire party shifted. The bits of drama have fizzled, and both of my girls are smiling about something.

I lean against the kitchen counter as Faye puts the last of her make-up tools away. “You looked like a natural assistant, Lil,” I tell my youngest as she finishes the remaining PEZ from her holder.

She blows out a breath. “Thanks, Dad. That was hard work.”

Faye looks over my shoulder from her makeshift workstation at the time on the microwave. “I need to get going.”

Lark’s head whips up from the game. “Thanks for helping, Faye.”

The rest of the room rings out inthank yousand praise for how awesome and cool she is.

“Thanks for the invite, Lark. You have really fun friends.” She smiles, glancing at me as she shoulders her oversized bag filled with all of her make-up. She looks for Lily. “Catch you later, Lily!”

My youngest has a cupcake stuffed in her mouth as she mumbles a goodbye and waves.

It’s like a slap in the face how much I want Faye to stay. I hate the idea of her leaving and not being here with me to entertain this crew in the morning. “See you later, Foxx.”

Raising my hand, I give her a wave as she heads out the door because, truthfully, I have a room full of pre-teens who are the epitome of gossiping little monsters. I scrub my hand over my face and mouth.What the fuck am I doing?

“Hey!” I rush outside, closing the door behind me and stalking down the steps without stopping until I reach the middle of the street. I wrap my arms around her and my lips crash into hers. Her fingers rake up the back of my neck and into my hair, sending that Faye-inducing feeling down my spine and across every inch of my skin. I hold her tighter and let my tongue have its way with hers before pulling away. Smiling against her lips, I give her one last kiss. “Come back over later.”

She’s smiling right back, narrowing her eyes playfully before nipping at my bottom lip. “You have a house full of kids.”

“Semantics.”

She snorts a laugh.

“Have any plans for Valentine’s Day?”

She sighs, looking around my face. “I have a show at Midnight Proof.”

“Good. I’ll come watch. Then afterwards, you’re mine for the night.”

“I don’t—” She shakes her head with a smile still lingering on her lips. “What are we doing, Foxx?” she asks softly. The vulnerable tone of voice isn’t something I’m used to hearing from her, but I like that she’s showing that part of herself to me.

I wrap my arms around her tighter and tell her the most honest thing I can muster. “I want to be around you. I likememore when I’m aroundyou. So let me be around you, Peach. And we figure it out as we go along. Lean into what feels right.”

She lets me run my nose along her cheek, and I can feel her smile when she whispers, “I like me when I’m around you too.” Kissing my cheek, she moves to pull away. But I’m not ready to let her go.

“Come back here. Let me kiss you like I’m going to miss you.”

“You’re going to miss me?” she teases.

I cuff a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re making it really hard for me not to.”

She frames my face with her hands and kisses my lips one last time before she pulls away and starts walking toward her house. When she looks over her shoulder back at me and smiles, I know without a doubt that I’m falling hard for her.

I close my eyes before I face my kids. The porch swing morning under the blankets, I lied my way out of and played off, but this isn’t something I can walk back from if they just watched it happen.

And when I turn, both of my girls have their dog on a leash and are watching me try to figure out how to explain what I was just doing. “Shit.” I run my hands through my hair. I didn’t think this through. How do I handle this conversation? I puff out my cheeks and blow out a breath. “Okay, sometimes grown-ups kiss each other. It doesn’t?—”

“We know why grown-ups kiss, Mr. Foxx,” one of Lark’s friends says matter-of-factly.

Great, I’m never going to hear the end of this.

More of the girls from the party have filtered out here now, the porch quickly lining with glitter-infused pre-teens. And then it gets loud again with a succession of questions aimed directly at me.

“Are you going to marry her?”

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