Page 19 of My Infatuation with Isabella
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“Nobel who?”
“Nobel...so I had to knock.”
Even though I try not to reward the idiocy of that joke with laughter, it still bubbles out of me. “That was terrible!”
He shrugs arrogantly, like he’s proud of himself. “Yep, dad jokes are for me.”
“Commit and bring it all together with a forehead kiss,” I demand.
He does as I ask, squeezing me as he plucks a kiss on my forehead, and then we sit there chatting until the sun goes down.
4. Dylan
February 12, 2027
