Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
QUINTON
Fingers digging into her waist, I lift her onto the counter.
A little breath huffs past her parted lips when her ass meets the hard countertop.
I position myself between her legs, and she leans in, tilting my head up as she claims my mouth.
I love this side of CC—the side that knows what she wants and fucking takes it.
Because I plan on doing the same thing.
Lifting her sweater and shirt out of my way, I claim a hard peak through her lacy red bra. Her thighs fall apart even more, her hands gravitating to my hair as she whimpers. What I wouldn’t give to have nothing between us.
But this isn’t about me.
I’ve had years to figure that out.
When it comes to women: for best results, apply selflessness. Hell, I learned most of it from my daughter.
Soft flesh gives way under my grip as I tug a hip toward me. “Dammit, CC. How is it possible that I can’t get you close enough?”
She stills, big blown-out brown eyes staring down at me. Her hand runs over my jawline as her mouth parts on a ragged breath.
She’s fucking stunning.
Her pretty red lips swollen from my kiss.
Her face flushed from my touch.
And it’s not enough. Glancing at the video feed on her phone only to see the start of one odd-looking snowman, I decide we’ve wasted enough time.
I release the clasp of her bra, and her hands sink into my hair, their grip renewed around my tousled locks. Neither of us is slowing down. Hell, I’m not certain I’ll ever recuperate from seeing Celeste undone this way, and we’ve barely started.
“Quin,” she mutters. “I—”
I take a long, languid suckle of her peak, and she bucks off the counter. My grip tightens around her hips as I do it again.
The softest, most intoxicating mewl slips past her lips.
“Fuck, CC.”
“God, we should really be building a snowman,” she whines.
I chuckle at her assessment of our current situation.
But as the amusement fades, burned out by the overwhelming desire for her that has me rock-fucking-hard right now, I shift to the other peak.
Grabby hands tug at my flannel shirt, then at the T-shirt beneath it, until her fingertips trace the lines of my stomach and upward over my chest. “I want to see you.”
I release the nipple with a pop and tug the shirt from my back.
CC sits on the edge of the counter, breathless.
When she swallows, somewhat regaining her composure, she says, “How am I supposed to live next door to this?” An elegant hand waves at my exposed torso. “You’re going to have to sleep naked and leave your curtain open, Quinnie.”
I raise a brow. “That was fast.”
She huffs a nervous sound. “What was?”
“The nickname.”
“I can nix it if you hate it.”
I step closer, my body pressing against hers as I cup the back of her neck with my hand. “There’s not one thing about you I could ever hate, CC.”
Her face flattens under something that looks suspiciously like shock. “I mean—”
“Daddy! CC! Come see our snowman!” Maisey’s voice carries through the phone app, the faded echo of it outside reaching us through the closed door.
“Shit, that’s our cue,” CC says, pulling her sweater down.
“Let me fix you up,” I offer.
She turns to give me her back, and I do the clasp of the bra up. Not able to resist, I wrap myself around her one last time. “To be continued, neighbor.”
Her hand reaches back, running through my hair as she turns her face and dots a kiss to my jawline. “I’ll hold you to that, Quin.”
I’m damn sure of it.
We unlock the door and head for the backyard. Pushing out into the morning sun, we find Maise helping Hank sink sticks into the side of the snowman for arms.
All . . . seven of them?
Interesting . . .
“Hey kiddo, your man here has a few too many arms.” I point at the multi-armed creation, realizing now he is more alien than snowman.
“Hank wanted to do something different. He kept saying ‘we need more, Tisha, more.’”
“I see.” I come to stand behind Maise, wrapping my arms around her as I dot a kiss to the top of her beanie. The cold day’s wind whips at my back, reminding me that, in our rush, we forgot our coats.
“Daddy,” Maisey says, looking up at me. “Who’s Tisha?”
“CC’s mama,” I whisper into her ear, not wanting to confuse Hank.
CC gives me a grateful look as she adjusts Hank’s coat and scarf.
“Are you and CC going to build a snowman, too?” Maisey says, bending down and scooping up a handful of snow, holding it out to me.
“Maybe. CC, you up for building a snowman with me?”
“Sure, just let me get Hank inside. Then you’re on, MacKelvie.”
“Sounds like a challenge, not a team effort.”
She leads her father to the back of the house, settling him in his reading chair where she can keep an eye on him, and returns, her smile blazing through the crisp winter surroundings.
“What do you think, Maise? Us girls against your dad?”
“Yes!” Maise leaves me in the dust—well, snow—quicker than a cat up a tree with its tail on fire, sticking her tongue out at me for good measure.
“Right, you’re on. First to build a regular snowman wins.”
“Hold up, let’s set some parameters first.” CC cocks a hip, planting a hand to it.
“What’s a pawameter?” Maise scrunches up her face.
“The things that each snowman has to have.” CC wriggles her brows at her. “Like two arms, three buttons on his chest, two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Okay, Quinnie?”
The cheeky damn smile stretching her face is going to keep me up later. But sure, I can agree to that. “Deal. We start in three . . . two . . . one . . . Go!”
The girls rush about gathering snow as Maise giggles.
Celeste cackles at her when they slip into each other and snow flies everywhere.
I squat, raking snow into a pile until I have enough for the first round section.
The girls are doing more laughing than building.
But I guess that’s the point to all this.
Thirty minutes later, and between three out-of-breath, snow-covered people, we have two-ish snowmen. Mine is super basic. The girls went all out, giving theirs accessories and stick hair.
They’re damn hilarious.
CC comes to stand by my side as the self-appointed snowman judge, a.k.a. Maisey, walks with her hands behind her back, eyeing each one in turn.
“Hmmm. Ten points for a structurally sound snowman, Daddy. But that’s all. You have no flair.”
CC’s shoulders shake as she slaps a hand over her mouth.
“CC, our—I mean, your snowman . . . has all the trimmings. I declare you the clear winner!” She rushes CC, who is now shaking from the cold and not from laughing at my John Doe snowman. CC bends down, hugging her tight.
“Group hug, Daddy!”
I fold myself around them both without hesitation. And the look of pure joy I get from Maisey all but seals the deal on my back-and-forth about including Celeste in our lives.
How could a guy say no to that face?
“As warm as your hugs are, I’m absolutely freezing, Maise. Can we go inside now?” CC begs.
Maisey hugs her tighter but relents. “Sure. We need to celebrate in style, anyways . . .”
Maise leads CC inside by the hand, and I follow behind, watching as they chatter away about future projects, snowmen, and this Christmas season.
It almost feels like a new normal.
Almost.
An elementary-aged boy dressed up as an elf gives us a bored look as I hand over our two tickets to the school’s Christmas play at the gymnasium doors.
Maisey bounces around me as we make our way inside.
The gymnasium has been transformed into a winter wonderland, mirroring outside but more . . . magical?
I flick a text to CC. Knowing her, she has Hank squared away somewhere inside already.
“Oh, Daddy, look! Can we sit with Hayley from my class?”
A small blonde girl is standing on a chair further up, waving at us.
“Sure, let’s grab a seat before people start filing in.”
We shuffle sideways in the third row until Maise is in the chair by Hayley’s mom. At least, I think that’s who it is.
The small blonde girl jumps up and whispers into Maisey’s ear. And Maise is shaking her head.
“But we organized this,” Hayley says, her brows dropping.
“That was before,” Maise says softly.
“Before what?” Hayley throws her hands up.
“CC.”
Now she has my attention. I check my phone for a reply as I listen to the two girls.
Nada.
That’s odd.
The two girls whisper about whatever it is before Hayley pouts, her arms folded over her chest as she stalks back to her seat.
I lean down to Maise. “What’s that all about?”
“Nothing.” She fidgets on her seat. The new dress she insisted on for the big event looks about as comfortable as a straitjacket. She tugs at the turtleneck and flops back.
“Guess I’m down to no friends again,” she mutters.
“Hey, wha—”
“Good evening, everyone!” The lights dim as the microphone squeals, now clutched in the principal’s hand. “And welcome to our annual Christmas play. The children have been so excited for this. So, without further delay, I give you A Starry Christmas Night.”
She waves an arm to one side as she leaves the small, low stage that takes up the entire short end of the gymnasium. CC is going to miss it.
Dammit.
All her hard work, and she’s not here to see it.
The stage lights burst to life, illuminating the backdrop a beat later. It’s incredible. Gasps come from the crowd alongside whispers about who the artist was for the oversized painting. And more and more discussion arises about CC’s work as the lights fixate on the empty stage too long.
When—finally—a disembodied arm pushes a small child past the side curtain, people quiet down, shifting in their seats.
A small boy, around six, all but cowers in the center of the stage. When it looks like he’s about to cry, an older girl dressed as a fairy comes out and holds his hand. She nods, smiling down at him.
He pulls a small slip of paper from his elf pants and speaks.
“One night . . . long ago in the realm of the Christmas Fairy, something strange was a-afoot . . .”
Maisey sits up, hands clasped in her lap, gaze set on the stage like a kid getting her first glance at a candy store.
I check my phone again. My message still says unread.
Worry twists low in my gut.
But I flick Caleb a text. Maybe he can get her to answer. My ego isn’t bigger than my concern for CC’s safety. I force myself to stay in the damn seat and let my daughter enjoy her first Grafton Christmas play.
The second the engine splutters out, I’m out the door and bundling Maise inside our house. “Stay here, okay?”
She’s not listening. The red and blue flashing lights in front of CC’s house have her little face stricken.
Caleb texted back halfway through the play, said there was an incident at Hank’s house but that he had it handled.
Now, seeing the ambulance and the paramedics at their house, I wish like hell we’d come home.
“Daddy, is CC okay?” Maise’s face is distraught.
“I’m sure the car is there for Hank. You go change into your pajamas and put the television on, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I grip her little face in my hands and plant a kiss to her forehead. The look of worry lining her eyes is so damn intense.
Did I make the wrong call not leaving the concert?
Sensing the urgency of the situation, she hurries inside, already pulling the long turtleneck dress off as soon as her coat is off her shoulders.
“Door, Maise.”
She kicks it shut, and I stride for CC’s house. I barely make it onto the porch before a gloved hand shoots out, stopping me in my tracks.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside,” a paramedic says. The tone of their voice is all wrong. Too apologetic.
“Nope, not happening.” I push past and cross the front door threshold. The pressure in my chest has blood thundering in my ears.
“Sir! We are still fixing her up.”
Her . . .