Page 104 of Bide

“Hun, can you drop this over to Mrs Russo?” She brandishes a Tupperware stuffed full of what looks like some kind of pasta. “I told her you’d say hello while you're here, and I promised her my leftovers.”

Luna opens her mouth to protest, but it quickly snaps shut when her mom pins her with one of those don't-mess-with-me looks that I think only the Evans women have truly mastered.

Luna turns to me, eyes apologetic. “You gonna be okay here by yourself?”

I nudge her gently toward the door. “Go.”

She rises on her tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to my lips before shooting daggers at her mom. “Behave.Please.”

Isla slaps one hand over her heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Reluctantly, Luna snatches the Tupperware and ambles out of the apartment, shooting her mother one last warning look before disappearing. When the door closes behind her, Isla pats my arm. “Here, come help.”

I round the island to stand beside her, taking the knife she holds out to me. Together, we chop vegetables in silence.

Well, we do for a solid two minutes until Isla sighs and sets her knife down. I knew a ‘don’t fuck with my daughter speech’ was coming but what leaves her mouth? Not quite what I expected. “My daughter is a handful.”

Unsure of how to respond, I stay silent.

“She's a handful,” Isla repeats. “I know it, she knows it, you probably know it by now. She is not an easy person to know. She doesn't trust very easily or let people in very often and it speaks wonders that you managed it because she makes it hard on purpose. But that tough front she puts on is just that; a front. She hurts just as bad as any of us.”

That, I already know.

“You make my daughter happy, but as soon as you don't, we have a problem. You hurt my girl, I hurt you. Got it?”

“Got it.” I nod. “For the record, I have no intention of hurting your daughter.”

“I know you don't.” Isla nudges me, a hint of a smirk on her face. “But I've always wanted to give the whole scary mom speech. How'd I do?”

A laugh escapes me as I go back to chopping carrots. “Shaking in my boots.”

* * *

Luna is still asleep when I wake up on Christmas morning.

Sprawled on my chest like she always is, naked like she always is. I swear the girl can't sleep with a scrap of clothing on.

Tucking a wayward strand of blonde hair behind my girl’s ear, I brush my lips against her cheek. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Luna grunts and burrows her face in my chest, clutching me tighter and coaxing a chuckle out of me. “What’s that?” I tease, fingers tickling her arm. “You don't want your presents?”

Her head shoots up so fast she almost clocks me on the chin. “I'm up.”

Wrapped in the duvet like a burrito, Luna shuffles upright, scrutinizing me as I rifle through my bag. “Jackson,” she mutters in warning, cautiously eyeing the multiple gifts I retrieve. I shush her by tossing the first one on her lap, gesturing for her to open it as I stretch out at the foot of the bed.

I purposely started with an easy one but her face still goes a little funny as she unwraps the small parcel to reveal a small box. “To replace the one I stole,” I tell her as she lifts the lid and wastes no time slipping the ring inside onto her pointer finger. A simple gold band—one that won’t stain her skin green—with a moonstone in the center of a setting shaped like a star that you can spin—so she doesn’t rub her skin raw anymore.

That crumpled expression remains even as she holds her hand in front of her face and murmurs, “I love it.”

“Good.” I toss her another, eager to get this over with because God, I hate giving presents almost as much as I hate getting them. “Next one.”

This one, she rips open with a little more enthusiasm, her caution waning ever so slightly. Her laugh hits me right in the chest as a whole bunch of panties rain down on her lap, a mixture of skimpy lacy and comfy cotton.

“To replace the ones I ripped,”“ I explain, swatting her away when she flicks the fabric at me. “That one, too.”

When she opens the biggest parcel in the pile, I get a faceful of LuluLemon leggings. “This is too much!”

“You're not done yet.”

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