Page 8 of Bragg's Christmas

She doesn’t remember Thanksgiving? Surely, she celebrated with her mom before.

“There’s turkey and cranberry sauce and stuffing and mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie.”

Her lip curls. “Pie made from pumpkin?”

I’m starting to get mad now. Was her mother a complete waste of space?

“Have you never had pumpkin pie?”

“Sounds yucky.”

“It’s really yummy.”

“Blech. No way.”

Starting to get mad is over and done with. I’m officially pissed. I finish Skye’s hair and set down the brush.

“Play with your dolls. I need to speak to your dad for a second.”

I wait until she’s occupied before I march to Damon’s bedroom. His door is ajar and I don’t bother knocking. I storm inside.

“We have to go to the store now! This is awful. How could someone do such a thing? If I had a child, she’d damn well know what Thanksgiving is and she certainly wouldn’t think pumpkin pie is gross.”

“Hold on,” Damon says.

“I will not hold on. Where are your keys?”

I’ve never driven his car, but he offered before.

“I meant for the person I’m on the phone with to hold on,” he says as he shuts his laptop.

“Oh sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but this is an emergency.”

“An emergency? Is Skye okay? Did she have an accident? I knew this was a bad idea.” He rushes to the door but I block him.

“She didn’t have an accident but her mother is going to when I get my hands on her. I’m going to strangle her before I let her recover for a bit and then I’m going to strangle her all over again.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe you should explain before the police get involved and you end up in jail.”

I point to the other bedroom where Skye is playing. “Your daughter doesn’t know what pumpkin pie is.”

“Okay?”

He doesn’t get it. Typical man. Completely clueless.

“She doesn’t know what pumpkin pie is because she’s never celebrated Thanksgiving before.”

His brow wrinkles. “But she’s five.”

“Thus, my plan to strangle your ex-girlfriend.”

He scowls. “Maria is not my ex-girlfriend. I barely remembered her name when she showed up at my front door.”

I hold up a hand to stop his explanation. I do not want to know this. I do not want to know he has no qualms about sleeping with women he doesn’t know as long as I’m not the woman.

Nope. Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind where I can examine them over and over again late at night until any possibility of sleeping ceases to exist.

“I don’t care. I care how Skye doesn’t know what pumpkin pie is. How she had to ask me what Thanksgiving is this morning.”

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