Page 116 of Who's Your Daddy
Chest heaving and breaths still coming too fast, I yank her to me and press my forehead to hers. “Yes.”
“You seemed very deep in thought so I didn’t want to interrupt.”
I close my eyes and breathe her in. “How long have you been standing there?”
Pulling back, she smiles up at me, her eyes mischievous. “Long enough to hear you say you’re splat on the sidewalk.”
Cringing, I release her and tug at my hair again. “What else did I say?”
She shrugs, but by the way her eyes dance, she definitely heard more. “Couldn’t make out anything else.”
I grunt. “How was Murphy? He asleep?”
With a nod, she grasps my hand and guides me toward the bed. The fucking single bed. How could this perfect creature love a manwho lives in a shithole flat with his brother and his best friend, sleeps in a twin-size bed, and has no idea how to raise a child?
I settle onto the edge of the mattress beside her. I’d follow her anywhere.
“Thanks for today,” she says softly, taking my hand in hers.
I study her, heart in my damn throat, and croak, “It was nothing.”
“That couldn't be farther from the truth. You have no idea how badly the day would have gone if you hadn’t sent them on that ghost tour. Dinner with them was bad enough.”
Head bowed, I squeeze her hand. “They’re just vibrant people.”
“Who talk over me and refuse to even try to understand that maybe I enjoy hard work and learning. Everything’s fun and games to them.”
A pit opens up in my gut. “Just like me.”
Straightening, she scoffs. “Not even close.”
“Yes, they are. This is exactly what you always disliked about me.”
“No.” She gives her head a violent shake, though the movement slows quickly. Then, with her eyes shut, she nods once. “Okay, yes.” She sighs. “But only because I never allowed myself to see the other parts of you. You were charming and far too gorgeous for my well-being. I chose to focus on the qualities that maybe reminded me of my parents so I could push you far, far away.”
I’m like putty in her hands. A melted puddle out on that sidewalk once again.
Does this mean she’s now looking for the good? A bloke like me can only hope.
With a hand to my cheek, she says, “But over the last few months, I’ve seen you. The real you. The kind, generous, funny, intelligent man behind that cheeky smile.”
She ducks, her cheeks going pink.
“What you did today is the perfect example of just how incredible you are. You understood immediately that I wanted to work, that I had responsibilities that couldn’t be ignored, and you made it allbetter in your own unique way. They never would have recognized that.”
She shifts so she’s looking at me, her knee bumping mine. “That’s why Brian asks you to help with so many cases. You know that?”
I shake my head, ready to argue.
Before I can, she squeezes my thigh, shutting me up. “He does it because you’re good, Cal. Better than he is at handling certain things. You have a way with people. You see an emergency, you notice the way a person is melting down, and you don’t hesitate to lighten their load with a joke or a smile, you don’t belittle their feelings or reaction. You make the situation manageable.”
Maybe it’s the way she sees me, or the way she always seems to know just what to say. Or maybe it’s just that she’s her. Lola. My Lola. I don’t know much, but right now, staring at this woman, and listening to her once again put me back together, I know without a doubt that I love her.
I’minlove her.
The words almost slip out, too. I’m desperate to tell her.
But maybe she’s right. I can see that the admission wouldn’t lighten her load. It wouldn’t make anything more manageable. So I don’t.
