Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
QUINTON
Fuck, she felt good.
So damn good. And I can’t get the look that claimed her face out of my head as I lay awake at 11:55 p.m. Only a few hours later, and I am still hovering around that one singular moment we shared. I can’t shake it.
It’s been forever since a woman affected me.
And never like that, never with just a touch.
Dammit.
She was animated tonight. Happy. It’s the first time I’ve seen her anything but focused, annoyed, or stressed-out.
And she was goddamn stunning.
Celeste’s light is still on. But now I can’t bring myself to peer through my window.
As much as I want to, I won’t.
Can’t.
My fingertips still hold the ghost of her touch. Her skin so silky soft, her dark eyes burning with the same thing that was threatening to take me down. At least I think that’s what it was for her, too.
I roll over, my tense body digging into the mattress. My mind latches onto one thing—touching Celeste—and fucking runs with it.
Cock impossibly hard, I rub my hands down my face with a groan.
I’m a fucking idiot, fantasizing over the woman next door. More complications are probably the last thing she wants. I’m probably the last man she wants, if our history is anything to go by.
But fuck me.
She’s damn well edible.
So beautiful and sweet, the way she plays with Maise. Selfless, the way she cares for Hank . . .
Hell, I may as well get her out of my system. I grip my cock in one hand and pump. Every angle, elegant curve, and sound of Celeste floods back in.
Every stroke takes me higher, every image of her cementing her somewhere deep.
I shoot loads of ropey release over my boxers with a low moan.
But the high is fleeting. Shallow and soulless.
It doesn’t abate the need, doesn’t even take the edge off.
Well, shit.
Maisey drags me along behind her as we make our way through the snow to the town center for the Christmas tree lighting.
Folks have already started drifting in from around town, and strategically placed speakers play holiday music with a comforting crackle.
The stars overhead pale in comparison to the bright faces around us.
It’s barely halfway through the month, but Grafton has Christmas in full swing.
The tree lighting, apparently, is the official start to the long list of festivities.
A few people say hello as I wander behind my daughter, snow crunching under my boots, the winter darkness kept at bay with the copious amounts of string lights and the lit-up Christmas displays in each storefront on Main Street.
“Hey Quinton, how’s the inn coming along? Going to be ready for Christmas Day dinner? You know, my family has tables booked there,” Jeffrey Stiles says, forcing a smile as if he’s worried his plans are going to fall through.
“Sure thing, started on the finishes yesterday.” I slap his shoulder, and he nods, muttering something that sounds like “great, great” as he turns away and disappears through the crowd.
People bustle around the enormous tree that stands proudly in the center of the square. The small tug on my hand reminds me I’m supposed to be following.
“Coming, Maise.”
“You’re so slow. Stop talking to everyone, Daddy.”
She weaves her way through the mass of bundled-up neighbors toward a handful of food stalls. We come to a stop in front of the candy stall. Of course we do.
I chuckle. “This is what you’re killing yourself over, kiddo?”
“It’s a once-a-year thing. You can’t be too early. If they run out . . .” Her eyes narrow as she scans the rows of treats. I know what she’s after. And when her shoulders slump and her face screws up, I know they’re out.
Candy apples.
Not exactly a scarcity during the rest of the year, but her favorite nonetheless.
“Sorry, Maise. Pick something else, hey?”
She leans into my side. Now I’m kicking myself for not leaving work earlier and getting to the event sooner. The line we walk between putting food on the table and being parents is a fine, treacherous one some days.
My heart aches for her as she mutters, “Never mind, let’s go find CC.”
“Sure, sweetheart.”
Making a mental note to find candy apples online and order a subscription later tonight that I can dole out throughout the year, I pick her up and place her on my hip. She cuddles into me, and her little sniffles have my hand running over her hair as I wade through the happy folks.
A minute later, by the food van, we find CC ordering. Two guys stand just behind her.
I make my way over, Maise still pouting into my neck, not willing to face the happiness all around her in her saddened mood.
“Hey there,” I offer.
“Oh, hi, Quinton.” Celeste takes her food from the vendor.
She passes some to Hank, who has a large basket swinging from his arm by the handle, before turning to pass a burger and drink to Caleb.
The hell?
I study the interaction like it’s some kind of hostage situation, not knowing who will survive. The intensity must register all over my face, because Celeste says, “Do you know Caleb, Quinton? We went to the same high school.”
Caleb chuckles. “CC, Quinton is my new boss.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize.” Her gaze widens as her cheeks flush, and I’m betting it’s not from the cold.
“I won’t keep you guys, then. Have a great night,” I say.
If three is a crowd, then five is just plain awkward. But as I turn to leave, CC’s gaze shifts to Maisey, still huddled and wrapped around my shoulder.
“Hey baby, what’s going on?” CC says softly, her fingers brushing over Maisey’s hair.
The gesture is so gentle, so maternal, it takes me aback. The naturalness of it all.
And on cue, my daughter pops her head up. Wiping away tears and snot onto her sleeve, she reaches for CC.
I relinquish my hold, and CC takes her, setting her on her feet and kneeling in front of her.
“Tell me what’s got this brilliant girl all upset.
” She brushes a damp strand of hair from Maisey’s face behind her ear.
I grind my jaw shut, not allowing the way my chest swells with their intimate interaction to show on my face.
“I wanted a candy apple, but when we got there,” Maisey says with a sniffle, glancing up at me, “we were too late. They were all gone.”
“Oh, baby. That’s too bad. Your dad had to work a little later, did he?”
Maise simply nods, dropping me in it.
“Well, you know what? I was there earlier, and I bought some things.” CC stands and takes the basket from Hank. “You take mine, sweetheart.”
Celeste hands Maisey a candy apple, bright red and wrapped in transparent cellophane.
Maisey’s eyes light up, rounding as she peers into the basket. There’s a bunch of candy apples, cotton candy, and candy canes. “These are all for you?!”
“Me and you, but we have to eat them slowly.” CC winks at her.
She bought half the damn stand. It’s a shit ton of sugar.
Maisey flies into her arms, hugging her tight.
Celeste meets my gaze. “Before you say no outright, I planned on making these last all year. I wasn’t sure which was her preference, so I got a few of everything.”
I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know what has stolen my words . . .
The fact that Celeste plans on staying that long, or that she intends on spending it with Maisey.
Emotion thickens my airways, and I shift my gaze to the little girl still wrapped around the woman I can’t get out of my head. Not since our almost kiss.
Caleb shuffles, pointing something out to Hank. And the moment is over.
“Come on, Maise, let’s go see the tree lights.” I extend a hand to her.
She still clings to Celeste. “I’m going to watch it with CC, Daddy. You can come if you want.”
How generous, kiddo.
“Sure thing.” I meet Celeste’s gaze, and she smiles, assenting.
“You guys coming to watch the tree?” Celeste turns back, holding the basket out to Hank. He looks at it but walks off with Caleb, obviously forgetting the last few minutes.
With a soft sigh, Celeste adjusts the handle of the basket over her arm. She keeps checking on Hank as he moves through the crowd.
“Caleb won’t let him wander off,” I offer.
“I know. I still worry. Not everyone is used to needing eyes in the back of their heads to—”
Her head dips as she takes in my ‘oh yeah’ face.
“I guess you’re the exception. You seem to have this parenting thing down, so . . .”
I chuckle at that. “No, Celeste. Nobody does. Sometimes we get lucky, and it just looks that way.”
The music stops abruptly, and the speakers crackle before a whiny screech sails through them from a microphone somewhere. The town mayor steps up onto a rickety platform in front of the tree.
“Alright, folks. Welcome! Welcome to the annual Grafton Christmas tree lighting. We are so excited for the holiday season and all the fun it brings. So, without further delay, light her up!”
The crowd falls silent as a young boy bends down and flicks a switch at the base of the tree.
Rainbow hues of green, red, silver, and warm gold explode over every bough. Gasps rapture through the audience, cheers and applause growing as the mayor swings her arms toward the tree. “Merry Christmas, Grafton!”
“Merry Christmas!” the crowd chants back.
Kids run around, adults discuss holiday plans as they admire the tree, and happiness radiates from every single soul here.
All except one.
I take in the sorrow in Celeste’s face as she raises her gaze, looking at the tree before us. “It’s really beautiful.” A heartbreaking contrast to the melancholy words that leave her lips.
“It is,” I whisper.
When her eyes meet mine, her sadness tugs at my heart. How devastating to lose something that’s supposed to be as special as the holidays to grief.
“Cele—”
“CC, think Hank’s ready to head home.” Caleb interrupts by cutting in between us, despite the closeness that rose during the light display.
But when we look to where he’s nodding, Celeste swears under her breath and takes off after her father.
Currently peeling off his layers and shaking his head, he gets the attention of more and more of the crowd.
Dammit.
“Daddy, why’s Mr. Black taking his clothes off? He’ll catch cold,” Maise says, hands coming to rest on her hips.
“He’s just confused. CC will help him get home.”
“Oh.” The little sound is disappointment personified.
Squatting, I take her by the arms. “How about we head home, too? That way, if CC needs a hand later, you can help out.”
“Can I stay up later than usual if I help?”
“Sure thing.”
“Yes!” She jumps on the spot before strangling my neck with her arms.
I sweep her onto my hip. “Let’s get out of this cold, hey?”
We head for the truck. And when we reach the parking lot, Celeste is helping her half-dressed dad into their truck. And it hits me . . .
In this stage of Hank’s condition, Celeste is the parent. But unlike my relationship with my daughter, her happy moments are much rarer with Hank. Double that with the memories of the man and father he used to be, and that makes my heart hurt for her.
Hell, when did I turn into such a damn sap?
“Daddy, let me in?” Maise tilts her head at me, frowning.
“Yeah, let’s go home.” I unlock the truck and open the door before tucking her into her booster seat, securing her belt.
Closing the door, I glance back at Celeste. She’s leaning on the passenger door, but her forehead is pressed against the glass. Defeat is written all over her face. And I decide in that moment to help her anyway I can.
Whether she wants my help or not.
She’s turned her life upside down to take care of her father.
But who is looking after Celeste?