usually kept tucked in a drawer in my bedside table in case of intruders. What if she’d been able to open the drawer and get to it?
“Hey, hey,” he said in that same sweet voice, softer now with a hint of worry. His cool hand reached up and clasped my face to get me to look at him. “It’s okay. Every parent on earth has stuff like this happen. I promise. The key is to do the best you can and then learn from your mistakes.”
“I can’t do this,” I whispered. “I’m not good enough for her.”
It was something I’d never admitted out loud even though I’d thought it a million times since getting the call that my sister was gone and Marigold had been left in my care.
Parrish’s hand smoothed across my forehead and my cheek while his other held Marigold tight to his chest. She was sucking on her thumb while staring at me, and I suddenly realized I didn’t want her to see me this way. I reached out and cradled her dark curls in my palm.
“I love her so much,” I admitted softly. “If I love her this much, shouldn’t I let her go?”
It was agony to ask him that, but if there was one thing I could guess about Parrish Partridge, it was that he had a much better head on his shoulders than I did. Clearly he knew more about kids, and maybe he could do me the favor of at least telling me if my attempt to keep Marigold was a fool’s errand.
His eyes narrowed and he practically spat out the words. “Absolutely not, and I don’t want to hear you say that ever again. It’s because you love her this much that she needs to stay right where she is. With you. With the person who loves her the most.”
Our eyes met over her head, and I wondered when was the last time someone had fiercely defended me like that? Maybe when one of my classmates had called me trailer trash and Aunt Dot had lit into them with a nasty string of hellfire and damnation under the guise of what she referred to as a “concerned Christian woman.” Which was something she called herself whenever the title suited her despite the fact she hadn’t set foot in a church since deciding staying in bed naked with her woman was preferable on a Sunday morning.
And now Parrish Partridge was telling me I was good enough, that not only was I an acceptable choice to raise Marigold, but that I was the only choice.
“Thank you,” I said. “I guess I didn’t realize how bad I needed to hear it.”
His hand trailed down from my face to my chest, but before I could get too excited about his touch, he patted my chest and cleared his throat. “Well, what are fiancés for, if not to support their man. Now… let’s get to work. This coffee isn’t going to clean itself.”
He turned and busied himself at the makeshift changing station on my dresser while I stared after him in shock. Had he just…?
“Stop staring at my ass and get to work,” he said over his shoulder before wincing. “Um, I mean… stop staring at my back and get to work. Not that you would ever stare at my ass. Don’t be ridiculous, Parrish.”
I couldn’t hold back a laugh. It wasn’t a giddy giggle at all, and I didn’t feel high with the possibility he’d actually agreed to my nutty scheme. “Do you always talk to yourself like this?” I asked, leaning over to strip the soiled bedding from the portable crib.
“You’re teasing me,” he said petulantly. “After I just agreed to be your pretend fiancé, now you’re teasing me.”
So he did agree. The confirmation sent my heart into the stratosphere. “I think it’s cute.”
“Mpfh,” he muttered.
“And I might have been staring at your ass,” I said as I exited the room to toss the dirty stuff in the washing machine. “It’s an award-winning ass.”
When I got back to the bedroom, I noticed deep pink stains on his cheeks and ears. “No flirting,” he said. “That’s a rule.”
I reached over him to the shelf above the dresser to get another fitted sheet. When my mouth was right by his ear, I said in a low voice, “I reject that rule.”
Parrish’s entire body shuddered, and he made a little whimper sound deep in his throat. “You,” he said with a squeak before trying again. “You can’t reject