Page 2 of Thanksgiving Daddy's Girl
My smile falters slightly. Thanksgiving has been our day. It’s been the day we spend together, remembering Mom and I’m not sure how I feel about him inviting somebody to share that day with us. Not even Myles. I know he’s like family and I grew up with him around, even calling him Uncle Myles for years when I was a kid, but Thanksgiving is sacred to me.
“It’s all right if you’re not okay with that, love,” Myles says. “I don’t want to intrude?—”
“No. No, it’s all right,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m sorry. Of course I don’t mind.”
He holds my gaze, and my heart does that stupid flip-floppy thing again. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Of course,” she says. “You’re family. You should spend it with us.”
My dad gives me a smile and squeezes my arm. If there was one thing I learned from my mom, it was to always be gracious. Letting Myles spend the day with us is totally something she would have done.
“Thank you, love,” Myles says. “I appreciate that.”
“Of course,” I respond. “I’m going to get settled in”
“Let me help you with your bags,” my Dad says.
“No, it’s all right. I got it. Thanks.”
“Well, if you need help, just give us a shout,” he replies.
“I will.”
As I walk out of the living room to grab my things, I cast one last glance over my shoulder at Myles, who’s retaking his seat on the couch, picking up his conversation with my dad. Our eyes meet for just a second and it jolts me, like I’ve got lightning flowing through my veins. He used to be Uncle Myles yet, seeing him now, after all this time, has me feeling as disoriented and out of sorts as seeing my neighborhood through adult, rather than a child’s eyes.
2
MYLES
Still feeling a bit jetlagged, I manage to pull myself out of bed and into the bathroom where I feel somewhat more human after a scalding hot shower. I get dressed and check my phone, only to see that I’ve got a text from Howie telling me he got called into the office and would be home later. I’m not surprised. Ever since his wife passed, the man has thrown himself into his work, eschewing things like taking a holiday.
Howie and I started his tech company together when we weren’t much older than Maeve is now. It was a slow start, but it boomed and has turned into a success internationally. We made more money than we could have ever dreamed of when we started literally, in his garage all those years ago. I cashed out, signing over controlling interest in the company, but I continue to draw a healthy paycheck and have dedicated myself to enjoying my life.
I’ve tried to convince him that he’s made a pile of money—more money than Maeve’s children can spend in their lifetimes—and he should take some time and enjoy his success. Go on holiday. See the world. Maybe find a new love. He won’t hear it, of course.He’s not gotten over Gwendolyn. She was the love of his life, and I’ve hated seeing him hurting so much in the wake of her death. Worse, I’ve hated seeing him close himself off to the possibility of love.
Of course, I can’t say I’m much better. I don’t even remember the last time I was in a relationship. But I’ve not had the sort of love Howie had with Gwenny, nor have I lost it. I’m not closed off to the possibility of love, I’ve just never found that woman who inspires me that way. I’d like to find her. I’d love to settle down, have a family, and grow old with somebody who fills my heart the way Gwenny filled Howie’s. I’m just not sure that woman actually exists. Not for me.
Am I too picky? Too demanding? Do I expect the unreasonable? It’s possible. But the way I figure it, if I’m going to open my heart and my life to somebody and choose to spend what years I have left on this fucking planet with them, I’m not going to settle for less than I want. I’m not going to compromise. If that makes me unrealistic, so be it. I’m happy the way I am right now and if that means, I spend my years alone, then so be it. I’m fine on my own. Always have been and there’s no reason for me to think I won’t always be.
I walk out of my room, determined to find some coffee to melt away the last, lingering cobwebs of jetlag. As I pass Maeve’s closed bedroom door, I shake my head. She’s grown up. She’s grown up really nice. The last time I saw Maeve, she was in her tomboy phase, running around with scraped knees, climbing trees, and playing sports with the boys in the neighborhood. But now? Now she’s a woman. A beautiful woman.
When she walked into the house yesterday, I could hardly take my eyes off her. And I couldn’t stand up to greet her right away or she was for sure going to see the erection straining the front ofmy slacks. Five-two and petite, she’s got the curves of a woman. Her breasts are round and full and look like they’d fit perfectly in my hands. Trying to not react to just how beautiful she’s become and keep my eyes off her in front of Howie was hard as hell.
I walk into the kitchen and find a full pot of coffee on the warmer. “Brilliant.”
Pouring myself a cup, I throw a splash of cream and a little sugar into it then take a long swallow, letting it warm me from the inside. My stomach rumbles so I root through the refrigerator, looking for something to snack on. I figure I’ll take Howie and Maeve out to lunch when he gets home. Or possibly dinner, depending on what time that might be.
As I pull some sandwich fixings out of the refrigerator, I hear a faint splash in the backyard. Curious, I walk over to the window.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
Maeve is emerging from the water, the sunlight glinting off the drops clinging to her soft, supple body. She’s wearing a swimsuit that seems too small for her petite yet busty frame, her breasts barely contained by the triangle tops. The water has made the top of her suit sheer, the pink circles of her nipples bleeding through the fabric.
She bends at the waist, wringing the water out of her long, dark brown locks, my stomach churns and I feel my cock stiffening. I know I should turn away. I should not be standing here watching this. But I can’t seem to force my body to move any more than I can tear my eyes away from her. She is most definitely not the little girl I knew all those years ago.
As if she senses me watching, or maybe somehow picks up on the lustful vibe radiating from me, Maeve looks up and sees me standing in the window.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
