Page 82 of Protector Daddy

I’d never not want her.

She sighed again, wistfully this time. “Seems like it’s a method best repeated over and over. Who needs tea?”

I made myself take a long breath. I wished like hell we had time enough for more stress relief but we did not. We were down to single minutes until Reagan was due to arrive.

“I can’t believe she’s really coming here.”

“I know.” She laced her fingers with mine at her waist. “I mean, I know as much as I can, considering twenty-four hours ago I assumed you had no offspring, but I’m coming around.”

“You are. And you’re a fucking rockstar, because I don’t think I’d be nearly as cool as you are if I found out you had a kid.”

“Well, for one, it would be statistically impossible for me to have an almost eighteen-year-old daughter unless I matured unnaturally early.”

I pinched her ass. “You’re not funny. You know what I mean.”

“I am a little funny. And yeah, I do know. I’m not really cool about this. Ask Mav how I reacted at lunch yesterday. Actually, don’t.” She held up a hand. “We need a little mystery to keep the magic alive.”

“If we have any more magic, one or both of us will be dead.”

“True. But if I have to die, can it happen before I have to meet the entire family?”

“No. The entire family is going to love you and ask when I’m going to put a ring on it.”

She went still in my arms.

Figured we’d been in such a good spot and I had to keep talking until I made things weird. “My mom is a typical mom. You know, she wants as many grandchildren as humanly possible—”

Honey stepped away from me and tossed me a jaunty look over her shoulder. “Guess it’s a good thing you got such a head start there, huh?”

I didn’t move when she walked out the door. How had I messed things up so fucking royally?

By saying far too much as usual.

I gave both of us a couple minutes to settle and then I came out to find her making coffee calm as could be in the kitchen. Which was a deceptive sign of tranquility. Even with my many years of singledom and lack of practice with the opposite sex, I knew from Murphy that believing a woman wasn’t pissed at you just because she seemed perfectly fine often could be a trap.

So after I took Boomer out to pee then closed him in the den—I didn’t know how Reagan felt about dogs—I tried a different approach.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked as I stood beside her at the counter.

“Talk about what?”

“What’s bothering you,” I hedged.

“Nothing is bothering me. I’m just nervous and you’re just…you.”

“Oh. Okay.” I went to take the mug of coffee beside her elbow and she smacked my hand.

“Mine.” Then she reached for one from the hook and poured me a fresh one. “This is yours.”

“Thanks.” Time for another approach, since the last one clearly was not the one. “I don’t really know how to do this, Honey. I’m not some suave guy with all the moves. I’m going to fuck up. Repeatedly.”

She let out a long sigh and fumbled with the tie of her dress before she turned to face me. “In case it’s not obvious, I’m a jealous shrew even though it makes no sense.”

“Jealous over what?”

“That some other woman had your baby. Duh.”

Her words warmed me inside so that I had no choice but to cup her cheek. Not touching her seemed impossible. “Some other woman didn’t want to be having my baby. She wanted anything in the world but that.”

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