Page 130 of Wild Hit
But it’s Christmas, the gardens are decorated with cheerful lights, and it simply is a delight to experience.
Also, I happen to be sitting against Miguel, my back flush to his chest, his arms around me infusing me with all his heat. I don’t even feel the chilly breeze of the evening in his cocoon.
I snuggle deeper against him as I continue chewing. “It’s not a cake, Dad. It’s an apple tart and you heard Marty, she wants cheese.”
“Hmph.” He turns to Consuelo, lifting his travel mug. “I can take more coffee, thank you.”
Miguel’s chest vibrates against me. “Mi vida, I think your dad may have wanted some tart for himself.”
“Did not,” Dad answers with the same dignity that has enveloped him all his life, even taking a sip of his topped coffee. But then he says, “Fine. Maybe. Apples are my favorite fruit, after all.”
My chest twists. I didn’t know this about him. But then again, I didn’t know that he’s been sober for years, and that early on in that journey is when he decided to buy the Orlando Wild team, where I already worked at, as part of his plan to slowly create an actual relationship with me.
I probably will never understand him, especially that penchant he has of using his might rather than speaking his mind clearly, but we’ve been finding some common ground the past couple of months. Small things like this one, liking the same fruit.
“Fine,” I parrot, stretching to offer the remaining half of the tart to him.
He accepts it gracefully. “Thank you.” And gobbles the whole thing up in a single bite.
I grunt. “Greedy old man.”
“Cranky old daughter,” he returns while chewing with none of the manners he’d typically employ.
Miguel chuckles. “I guess it’s good to know that this dad and daughter type of dynamic lasts forever.”
“But I’m not old,” Marty grumps, skewering more cheese cubes on the plate and this time, popping in a grape too.
Sighing, I hug Miguel’s arms tighter around me.
So this is love, a little tea party in a crisp Christmas evening with my family, watching the holiday lights shine brighter as the sun dims in the sky, not a single person around to distract from this precious moment that I’ve managed to earn after so much heartache.
“Wait a second.” I sit up to attention, sweeping a glance all around us. “Why is there no one else here?”
Silence.
And knowing looks.
I fold my arms. “Who paid an exorbitant amount of money to rent this whole freaking park for the evening, and clearly needs a lecture on financial responsibility?”
Dad’s hands come up. “Don’t look at me, I’m just here for the ride.”
Scooting, I make enough distance between us to turn toward Miguel, but the scolding dies on my lips.
He’s sitting there, his thick and oddly very straight legs wrapped in theSPORTYpants that made his ad go massively viral, and a simple flannel and jacket that somehow make his shoulders look infinite. His full lips are turned in a playful smile, eyes dancing with lights in a way that will never stop making my heart flutter.
“I didn’t rent the whole thing. The staff recognized me when I called and offered a few private hours for free. I do plan to make a healthy donation to help with operations after this, though.”
“Good.” I fold my arms, nodding. “That sounds more reasonable.”
“You’re not going to ask why he even did it in the first place?” my father wonders, almost confused at my lack of sharpness.
Marty shushes him and whispers, “Hold on, here comes the best part.”
“What would that be?” I ask, turning to her for any sort of hint. But then Consuelo points forward with her lips, in that uniquely Latin American fashion, and I bring back my attention to Miguel.
And the shiny thing in his hand.
My eyes widen and I lean closer, even changing angle to really make sense of what it is.
