Page 16 of Booked for the Holidays
Theo is a dad.
“You can call me Mac,” she supplies. “No one calls me Mackenzie unless I’m in trouble.”
“Hi. I’m Bridget. Bridget Boylston.”
“Mac, why don’t you check out the young adult section and see if Bridget has the book you’re looking for?” Theo suggests.
“My dog is over there if you want to say hi,” I add. “His name is Ziggy, and he’s very friendly.”
“Awesome. Nice to meet you Bridget. Can I call you BB? That’s a cool nickname.”
“Sure. Yeah. BB sounds great.”
“Cool.” Mac grins, skipping to the bookshelf in the back corner of the store.
When she’s out of earshot, I turn to Theo. “You have a daughter?” I hiss. “Why would you hide your kid? You aren’t ashamed of her, are you? If that’s the case, I’m going to kick your ass.”
Something shifts. In the air, in him.
Theo steps to the counter, the distance feeling less substantial than before. An electric charge occupies the small gap between us, a crack and spark in intensity as it builds and rises to the surface. His nostrils flare and his hands land on the laminate. Large palms bracket either side of my arms, splayed out and covering half the countertop. His shoulders sink to my height, bringing us almost nose to nose. Eyes blazing, he takes a deep breath.
I see you, Theo Gardner.
I’m not afraid.
“Ashamed?” he simmers. Venom and disgust outline the edges of the adjective. “I’m not ashamed. I’m so goddamn proud of Mac and all she’s accomplished. I’m a private person who hates when people butt into my personal life, and she is myentirepersonal life. My employees know about her. My friends know about her. Now you do, too, because all she talked about this weekend was a book about teenagers with magic powers who can fly. I haven’t seen her this excited about something in ages. So here we are. Me, revealing a part of my life to you that not many people know about, and freaking the fuck out in the process.”
I inhale. To be granted the honor of joining a small inner circle–intentional or not–and learning another slice of Theo’s story is discombobulating.
I also feel solucky.
Lucky that he trusts me with this precious information. Lucky that I get to witness a part of him he doesn’t broadcast to the world. Lucky that I get to hear the prideful tone his voice takes when he says how thrilled he is with his daughter.
Small beads of perspiration gather on his forehead and his chest heaves. I watch his throat bob as he swallows, attempting to compose himself. This isn’t the same stoic, detached man who walked through the door a few minutes ago. He’s passionate, wild. Ready to go to war. A manalive.
I step forward tentatively. Nearer and nearer I inch, until my hips press against the counter and I invade his space.
“Theo.” My voice stays steady. A rock standing firm against the raging river of uncertainty around me. “You’re adad. That’s so awesome. Five seconds of interacting with her and I can already tell she’s wonderful. She also has a good head on her shoulders because she likes to read. I’m guessing she didn’t get the coolness from you, you big fucking numpty.”
He huffs out a sound, barely discernible. A laugh, I think. He glances over at Mac, and the effect she has on him is instantaneous. A smile forms. It starts on his lips, working up his face to the apple of his cheeks and the crinkles by his eyes. A quiet, resistant jubilation shows itself. For the first time, I see him in his full, magnificent splendor.
Shit, he’s beautiful.
And hot as hell.
He resembles Paul Rudd, a timeless handsomeness to his features. He looks a decade younger than he probably is. It’s unfair, honestly, how effortlessly attractive he is.
Amber eyes, half-hidden behind his glasses, have cooled, settling to a shade reminiscent of whiskey, neat. The kind of drink you sip slowly to savor the taste, the bite of liquor strong and worth the wait. His mop of hair falls to the side in a natural, laissez-faire style. Sprinkles of sawdust are caught in the waves, glittering in the natural light of yellows and oranges coming through the window, the room their blank canvas. The smell of cedar and pine surrounds him, manly and clean.
Behind the classic attractiveness is a hint of trouble. A splash of bad. I shiver at the intoxicating amalgamation. I’ve always considered Theo good looking, but watching him exhibit delight so openly about someone he loves more than life itself? Seeing him smile boldly, purposefully?
It’s devastating.
The kind of destruction you welcome with open arms.
I’d do a lot of things for just one more glimpse of his joy. I want to capture this moment on film and carry it with me, stored in the back pocket of my jeans. I’d hold onto the majestic sight a little while longer and treasure it on a rainy day.
“Yeah,” he finally answers. My reverie breaks. “She does.”
