see the unicorn before dinnertime. He promised he will.”
Chapter Eleven
Colin
I hate my brother.
Once we’re outside his place, Perry starts in. “I want to meet the unicorn.”
Telling my daughter there’s no such thing as unicorns is almost as cruel as denying the existence of fairies, Santa, and the Easter Bunny. I have to handle this issue with the truth but without taking away her childhood fantasies.
“He’s talking about a pretend unicorn, Perry.”
She stares at me and blinks twice. “Can I see it?”
“It’s just a lady in a unicorn costume.”
Her mouth opens wide. “Like Santa’s helper, who uses his suit while he’s working?”
“Exactly,” I agree, relieved she’s going to let this whole business go. My kid is really mature for a four-year-old.
She claps her small hands, the sound muffled by her mittens. “I want to see her.”
This is a bad idea.
“Perry, we’re going home,” I say firmly.
“Unicorn,” she says, crossing her arms. “You promised.”
Colt knows what words to use to make things happen. He’s aware that I don’t break promises to Perry. He’s going to pay for this. I’m not sure how yet, but he will.
“She might not be wearing the costume,” I warn.
Perry’s eyes narrow, and for a second, a smidgen of hope lets me breathe effortlessly. She’s going to let this go. She gives a tiny shrug. “Okay, we can meet her without it.”
“We can try another day,” I insist.
“You promised,” she repeats.
I sigh. My options are disappointing my daughter and setting a bad precedent or doing something stupid.
Stupidity wins.
The sun has set. The lampposts and twinkle lights decorating the trees illuminate the town. Perry points at the twinkle lights as we make our way toward the bakery. We count the stars, the trees, and the big candy canes hanging around Main Street. When we arrive at Cookie Cutter Bakery, Becky apologizes because she’s sold out. I guess I can make it up to Audrey if I order some takeout from the taco shop.
It’s getting colder as the minutes pass. My house is closer than the B&B, so I decide to fetch my SUV before we head to visit Audrey.
“We’re just here for a couple of minutes,” I warn Perry as I unbuckle her seat belt. “You say hi, and then we go back home.”
“Okay,” she agrees, giving me a sweet smile.
We make our way into the building, and a delectable aroma of vanilla, chocolate, and what I would guess is ginger welcomes us. Perry and I walk toward the kitchen where the inviting scent of baked goods, home, and warmth is pulling us.
This is a bad idea. What if she doesn't like chicken tacos? What if she’s busy?
When I swing the kitchen door open, I can’t help but smile at the picture in front of me.
Audrey grins from ear to ear as she stares at a table filled with cookies.
“You could open a bakery,” I suggest.
She looks up at me, and her eyes widen. I smile at her appearance. She looks cute with her messy hair powdered with flour, streaks of what I think is red frosting on her cheek, and an apron that has a picture of two buns and reads: hands off my buns.
The corner of my lip stretches slightly upward as I remember touching her buns. Pushing her sweet, round ass closer to me as I thrust inside her. My heart thumps wildly, and I want to reach forward and slide a hand around her waist to pull her close to me.
I crave her mouth.
My eyes dart toward her lips. The memory of last night is fresh and warm in my mind, just like the cookies on the table.
Everything comes to a halt when Perry’s voice fills the room. “Are you the unicorn?”
Audrey’s eyes stay glued on my daughter for a few seconds, then move up to me and back to Perry.
“We came to check on you. Colt lost track of time and skipped the cookie service,” I explain poorly and look at the table. “I believe you fixed the issue.” I hold up the brown paper bag from the taco shop a few doors down. “We brought you dinner to make up for the cookies.”
She grins. “Life is better with cookies.”
“Daddy, can I have one?”
Audrey tilts her head to the side, pursing her lips. The seconds pass slowly, and the atmosphere thickens.
What is she thinking? I don’t owe her an explanation, do I?
Why do I feel like I should’ve warned her about Perry? Not warn her but share about my daughter.
It’s not serious, so you