Page 12 of Not Your Shoe Size

Kate laughed, but there was no joy in it. “You know my family! Mr. Peterson was the only person who talked to me like I wasn’t a huge waste of space.”

He grimaced, embarrassed by his own question. He forgot sometimes that Kate grew up in such a painful environment. Or maybe he tried to forget because the truth was so shitty. He was a dick for questioning her about her feelings for this Peterson dickhead. She’d been the accidental tenth child to middle-aged parents, bullied by her siblings and schoolmates for being unwanted and having ADHD, and here he was, giving her shit for having a crush on someone who was nice to her.

Ty walked to Kate’s side of the table and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said into her hair. “I’m an idiot. It doesn’t matter if you had a crush on this guy when you were a kid.”

She snuggled back into his arms. “You’re so jealous and paranoid, daddy-bear.”

“I know. Forgive me?”

“Only because you’re my daddy. The only daddy for me.”

Ty smiled. “Good. Let’s stop talking about this.”

“I’d like that.”

He kissed her cheek. “Done. I’ll drop the wedding thing too. The next time we talk about it, it’ll be because you brought it up.”

Kate nodded, but he felt a thin frost blossom between them. Ty waited a few seconds, then swallowed his pride. “Is there anything else you want to say, baby?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Have you heard anything about Paris?”

Ty froze. “Has someone said something?”

Kate pulled away, turning to look him in the face. “No, why?”

“Because…well, Melissa called this afternoon.”

Kate’s expression brightened. “They still want you?”

“It seems like it. They’re offering a bit more money per year, travelling expenses, that kind of thing.” Actually, it was fifty thousand dollars more and free first-class flights, but Kate was already too excited about him being headhunted. If she knew how badly Howitzer wanted him, she’d lose her shit. As it was, she pushed back her chair and jumped to her feet. “That’s amazing! What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

Kate looked like someone had shot her puppy. “Nothing?”

“I told Mel I’d think about it.”

Kate whooped, jogging the room in spirals like a decapitated chicken. “You’re considering it! I can tell!”

Ty watched her run, amused but irritated. He was a prick for thinking it, but why couldn’t she be even half this excited about getting married? “Don’t get your hopes up. They’re probably wooing other people, and I’m not sure I want the gig. Paris is a big fucking change, and I’m happy where I am.”

“You could be happy in Paris! We could walk and look at art and eat cheese—”

“We already do that here—”

“And I can learn French and wear red lipstick and—oh my God.” Kate stopped dead, her socked feet skidding. “We could get a dog! One of those fluffy white ones! We could call it Kiwi and take it on walks to the Eiffel Tower!”

“I mean…”

“You don’t want a dog called Kiwi? You don’t want an adventure?”

Ty struggled to say something that wasn’t ‘not really, baby.’ “It’s just a job. And France is overrated.”

Kate put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know why you’re not freaking out about this. You love travelling, and this is a two-year European holiday!”

“Yeah, but—”

“You said it’s a consultation position. You’d do half the hours you do now for twice the pay, and we’d be inParis.”

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