Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,16
have at least a few good years left.”
“Your body is fucking perfect, Cheyenne.”
I swear to God, those words came out of his mouth.
My jaw fell open.
His face went red. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“For what? It was a compliment.”
“Men shouldn’t comment on women’s bodies.”
“But did you mean it—what you said?”
“Yes.”
“Then say it again,” I demanded, my pulse racing.
He looked me in the eye. “Your body is fucking perfect, Cheyenne.”
“Okay, I’m ready!” called Mariah from the top of the stairs.
With my face flushed with pleasure, I pushed back my chair and hurried out of the kitchen. He likes my body! He likes my body! He likes my body! I kept repeating the words in my head, even though it made me feel like the world’s shittiest feminist. But it was the first time Cole had ever given me any indication he saw me like that.
Up in Mariah’s room, I watched her scramble beneath the covers and lowered myself to the edge of her bed. Once she was tucked in, her stuffed dog beneath her arm, I switched off the lamp on the bedside table. I was afraid if I left it on, she’d notice how pink my cheeks were and ask why.
Oh, no reason. I’ve just been waiting for your dad to notice me for twenty years, and he just sort of admitted he thinks I’m hot, but I’d like you to please remember when I said looks aren’t the most important and not how happy I am right now, okay? Thanks.
But she had something else on her mind. “Miss Cheyenne, are you in love?”
The question startled me. “Why do you ask?”
“On your turkey, you put love as one of the things you were grateful for.”
“Oh.” Somewhat relieved, I thought for a moment. “Well, there are all different kinds of love. Love between family members, love between friends, love for our co-workers and neighbors, love for our country, love for our pets.”
“And for our stuffed animals,” Mariah added, kissing her dog on the head.
I smiled. “Definitely for our stuffed animals.”
“But have you ever been in love? Like a mom and a dad?”
“I thought I was, a couple times,” I answered truthfully. “But sometimes that kind of love is really just other things dressed up in a fancy costume.”
Mariah nodded. “And when the fancy costume is off, you see that it wasn’t really love?”
“Sort of. Yes,” I said, deciding that it wasn’t a perfect metaphor, but it was good enough for a Tuesday night after a couple glasses of merlot. “I think real love will keep feeling like real love, even after the costume is off and the novelty wears thin.”
“What’s novelty?”
“Newness,” I told her. “Real love should last, you know? It should grow even stronger over time, not fade away.”
“I didn’t know love could fade away.” Mariah’s voice trembled a little.
“It can’t,” I promised her. “Real love doesn’t fade. It only gets stronger.”
“I love my dad the most out of anybody.”
Girl, same, I wanted to say. Instead I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I know.”
“Sometimes I wish he wasn’t a police officer,” she whispered, as if she felt guilty about it. “I saw a movie once where a police officer died.”
My heart ached for her. “Listen to me. Your dad is a very careful and smart police officer. And Bellamy Creek is a very safe town. You don’t have to be worried about him, okay?”
“That’s what he says too.”
“Because it’s true,” I said. “I’ve known your dad a very long time, and he always tells the truth. Guess what else I know about your dad.”
“What?”
“He loves you the most out of anybody. And he always will. So that makes him extra careful and safe on the job.”
She smiled. “Okay. Can you send him up?”
“Of course. Goodnight, honey.”
“‘Night.”
Downstairs, Cole was rinsing my wine glass at the sink. “She’s all ready for you,” I said, taking my book bag off the back of my chair and slinging it over my shoulder.
“Okay.” He set the glass upside down on a towel to dry and turned to face me. “Thanks for staying.”
“Thanks for the help with the project.” I glanced at his turkey on the fridge and laughed. “You did a great job. A-plus work.”
He chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. “Right.”
“Well, I should get home. Early morning tomorrow,” I said, moving for the door.
“Want me to walk you back?”
Of course I did, but I shook my head. “No, that’s okay. Your mom isn’t here, and I don’t want to leave Mariah alone. She’s . .