Page 33 of All I Want For Christmas Is You

“Turn left, Dad,” she whispered and pointed in the other direction.

“Change in plans.”

She eyed him curiously, but she was on a call, so she didn’t press him.

Which was good because if she did, he’d cave. And if he went back to the lodge, he’d probably go after Margot like a heat-seeking missile. His daughter would chase after him, calling, “Dad? Dad? What are you doing?”

But he wouldn’t hear because he’d be tracking his woman.

Are you fucking serious?

She’s not your woman.

Realistically, the only thing they had in common was they’d both been divorced. He didn’t even know what he’d do if he had more time with her.

Well, he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

He’d kiss her so thoroughly she’d forget she even had an ex. He’d let her know with his hands and tongue she didn’t deserve what that fucker had done to her. He’d peel off her leggings and flip her over, hike her ass in the air so he could watch her cheeks jiggle when he fucked her into an orgasm.

He needed to get his hands on her tits, maybe fuck them—oh, yeah, definitely that—and watch her tongue peek out to lick the head of his cock.

Jesus. You’re not getting hard with your daughter in the car.

That’s it. He’d block her from his mind. Think about work, a problem he could solve.

He pulled into the parking lot of a French bistro, found a spot, and killed the engine. As he waited for Jessa to finish with her advisor, he reached into the back seat for her Christmas present.

A moment later, she ended the call. “I thought we’re having dinner at the lodge?”

“No, it’s coming down pretty hard right now.” Already, snow had piled up on the hood of his car. “I don’t want you stuck at the lodge. We’ll eat closer to campus.” She didn’t need to know about his near heart attack. “Do you want your present now or after dinner?”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “It’s like you don’t even know me. Obviously, now.” Digging into her backpack, she drew out a small wrapped gift. “Here’s yours. You go first.”

His daughter was many things, but a perfectionist wasn’t one of them. Crisscrossed strips of tape held the jaggedly cut paper around the box. Inside, he found a blue and white hoodie. He unfolded it and read the logo. “‘Whitney Dad.’ Perfect. Thank you.”

“There’s more.”

He reached back in and found a photo album. As he flipped through the pages, he realized it was a timeline of their lives together. His heart grew too big for his chest. He pointed to them dressed in matching onesies, each carrying a basket as they sought the hidden eggs. “Look at you.”

She leaned across the console. “What?”

“You’re laughing.”

“Of course. It was so fun.”

“I thought you hated that it was just me. That you wished it was Walker doing it with you.”

“I mean, I would’ve loved having my brother play with me, but only if he wanted to. But I had you, and I loved that you did it with me.”

“I’m glad to hear that. It’s good to see how happy you were.” There was another of him in bed as she and Walker brought him a breakfast tray for Father’s Day.

“Best eggs you ever had, am I right?”

They both burst out laughing at the memory of the runny scrambled mess. He turned the page. “This one gets me every time.” He’d taken the kids to the ocean in San Diego. It was Jessa’s first time, and she didn’t know what to make of it. So, she stood at the shoreline, lifting her shorts and dipping a toe into the bubbly water that washed over her feet. “Man, were you cute.”

“I know, right?” She placed a hand on the book so he wouldn’t turn the page. “I know it’s not much of a gift, but I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you. Mom was inconsistent, to say the least, and it kind of forced you into both roles, Mom and Dad.”

“I wasn’t forced into anything. I like spending time with you. More than I like working or going on dates or hanging out with friends. I like you. You’re smart and funny. Creative. Thoughtful. Even if you weren’t my daughter, I’d want to hang out with you.”

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