Page 80 of Truly Forever

Of course, my eyes are mainly on the backend of a semi we’ve been stuck behind for a full minute, but I catch amusement in her profile. “You could—but not if you want the fun of watching your grandson tear at wrapping paper and see his face light with joy.”

Yeah, I’d like that, to make the little guy smile. And I hope it can be the first of many times. That’s up to Tyler, however. Yes, I was a horrible father, an absent father, but he’s cracked the door for a relationship with this party invitation. I’m praying he swings the door wider in the days to come.

I drum the heel of my hand on the wheel. “Well, crud. I forgot about wrapping the thing.”

There’s laughter in Hollie’s response. “One step at a time. We have to find the gift first.”

We end up combing the toy aisles of a Walmart and, on Hollie’s direction, I choose a shiny red firetruck that’s got to be about Brayden’s size. It has bells and whistles and sirens. What little boy wouldn’t love to zoom this thing around the living room?

Hoisting the giant box, I turn for the end of the aisle. Hollie pops into my path. “Here.”

There’s a ball of black and white fluff vaguely resembling…Blakely…gripped between her pretty long fingers. It has a pink nose and sports a red collar around its neck. I frown. “Uh, Brayden is a boy.”

“Brayden is a baby.” She presses the stuffed dog to her cheek and pouts her lips. “Think of him cuddling this little guy at night.”

I know who I want to cuddle.

“I’m already buying the firetruck,” I grumble.

“You could get both.” Her blues eyes sparkle like water danced on by the sun. She grins, trotting the fuzzy dog in the air and flipping one of its floppy ears with her fingers. “Pick me, pick me!”

My airways tighten.

I snatch the dog and toss him into the basket, setting the cart in motion. “Fine.”

Almost giddy, she claps her hands—then shoots ahead, leading us to the wrapping section, a woman on a mission.

I opt for plan B, a giant gift bag with primary-colored balloons printed on it. She stretches across me to remove the bag from its slot. Is that…perfume…she’s wearing today? Flowery and sweet and—

I gulp a swallow, step back, and leave Hollie to choose perfectly coordinated ribbons and bows and tissue paper all by her lonesome.

Back in the car, she works some mother-magic with the gifts and bag—but I’m consumed by the fragrance of her. It’s the only thing I can think of.

Holding the fancified gift bag up for display, she beams a pure smile. “There. How does it look?”

Irresistible.

“John?”

The dimming of her sunshine brings me around. I shake off the haze I got lost in.

Smiling comes way too naturally with Hollie. “It looks like a pro did it. Thank you.”

Yes, bringing Hollie along was a stroke of genius.

But it may also prove to be a decision that has put me on a collision course with disaster.

Hollie

When we pass the Waco city-limit sign, I steal a peek at John. Even without the mirrored sunglasses, his expression would probably be unreadable. People talk about being open books. Other than a couple momentary flashes of openness, John is the epitome of a closed one.

If I’m honest, though, I think I’m being allowed a peek into his life that few are privy to—and this is something we share. He already knows more about my world than pretty much anyone on the planet.

His fingers tap and drum the steering wheel, their tempo picking up pace and ferocity the more miles we put under our belt. As for myself, the lightness that overtook me at the store has faded, and my stomach is starting to cramp. A houseful of strangers? No, thank you.

Signaling, he takes an exit and makes a left turn at the first light. Without following directions from his phone, he makes another whole series of stops and turns through a sprawling neighborhood.

Finally, he parks in front of a ranch-style, brick home in a thirty or forty-year-old neighborhood. The trim on the house needs refreshing, but the property is otherwise neat and tidy. There’s an early two-thousands Ford truck, an older sedan with lots of stickers on it, and a motorcycle in the driveway. A few other vehicles clutter the street in the near vicinity.

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