Twist of Fate (Taking Chances #2) - Tia Louise Page 0,69
“Yes, that’s good—I want that, too. I just didn’t want it to be forced. For Melody’s sake.”
“What did you say a minute ago? You didn’t want me to feel trapped? Why would you think that?”
“I-I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Bringing up Becky right now feels wrong, so I don’t.
He doesn’t speak for the space of several heartbeats. He takes a step, turning away from me, and I watch his broad shoulders stretching his black tee, rising and falling with his breath.
It’s killing me. “I wish you’d tell me what you’re thinking.”
He pivots slightly. “I have a daughter.”
“We have a daughter.” I hope it’s reassuring.
“I feel this pressure… like I should propose to you or something. Like I should do the right thing.” He says the last part in an affected, judgey-style voice.
“You don’t. We had a fling four years ago. That’s no reason to think we should do anything drastic.”
He quietly considers my words. “It was more than a fling.”
“What else could it be?” I’m equally quiet. “We never dated. We spent a week together.”
“It was a fun week.”
My throat is so tight. “What are you saying?”
He walks around the store, pausing to pick up a figurine. “I came here because I wanted to see you again. I wanted to reconnect and get to know each other again. But now… This changes everything.”
“Does it?”
“Yeah, it does.” His brow is furrowed, and my stomach is tight.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if it’s a good change or a bad change, but I know one thing. “Remember when we were friends?”
He hesitates. “Yes.”
“Maybe we can start there. Want to be friends again?” I try to smile, but his brow is still furrowed.
“We never stopped being friends.”
“Well,” blinking down, I say a little prayer. “Then we’ve started.”
Lifting his chin, he looks around the store. “It looks like you need some help with this stuff. I’m pretty good at lifting and moving things.”
A sliver of relief filters through my chest. “We can start tomorrow.”
He nods. “Good. I’ve got some things to do today.”
Twenty-Three
Scout
I have a daughter.
She’s this magical little golden ball of three-year-old energy, and I’m trying to wrap my mind around it. She’s adorable and funny, and seriously bossy.
She’s mine, and she’s Daisy’s. I almost can’t believe it.
All that time I was alone in L.A., she was here being born, being a baby. My stomach tightens, and my chest burns because my heart has expanded so fast with love for her. I love her. She’s my little girl. And she plays football.
“Go far, brave knight!” She holds the small pink football at her chest like she actually knows what she’s doing.
Go far? I don’t know what to make of it, so I jog away from her a little distance as she hoists the ball with all her strength, kicking out her leg in the back like a ballerina.
The ball curves in a short arc, and for the second and a half it has air, it actually turns in a spiral before bouncing off the ground between us.
Melody looks at it with so much disappointment, like it’s her first incomplete pass.
“That’s okay!” I jog forward, scooping it off the ground and carrying it to her again. “We’re just getting warmed up.”
Taking a knee in front of her, I put my hand on her tiny waist, hoping to comfort her.
Her rosebud lips press into a frown. “You’re not very good at this.”
I can’t help a laugh. “I guess I’m out of practice. Let’s try again.”
“You need a lot of practice.” She says it like I’m hopeless, and I fall completely in love with her.
“I’ll do better, princess. Give me another chance.”
“Okay.” She exhales heavily, lifting the ball to her chest again. “Go far!”
This time I only take one step back as she throws it with all her strength. It makes the tiniest spiral, and I scoop it up before it hits the ground, running to the other end of the field and waving my arms like an idiot.
“Touchdown!” I yell, and she throws both fists over her head, jumping up and down.
Then she stands perfectly still and screams at the top of her lungs.
My heart plunges, and I run to her at top speed, dropping to my knees and catching her waist. “What’s the matter? Does something hurt?”
I look all around her face, her small body, wondering how you know if someone’s appendix has burst.
She stops screaming and calmly takes the football. “That’s what the cheerleaders do.”