28. Garrett
GARRETT
Two hours after I disappear into my office following dinner to write and post on social media, I reemerge and head to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.
Peony’s and Athena’s voices are coming from the living room, and I take a detour to see what they’re up to.
They’re at the coffee table, working on a bright, colorful jigsaw puzzle with jungle animals on it.
Or rather, Athena is putting the puzzle together. Peony is taking it apart.
Athena doesn’t seem to care that Peony is destroying it as quickly as Athena is putting it together, if her smile is any indication.
I sit on the couch and watch Athena slot the tiger’s face into place. “Hey, what are you two doing?”
“We’re putting together this jigsaw puzzle, aren’t we, Peony?” Athena’s smiling eyes meet mine.
Peony waves at me and ducks down. Only the top of her head and the two buns perched on either side are visible above the coffee table. She pops back up, holding a book, and toddles to where I’m sitting.
She puts the book beside me and toddles to the sectional cushion where Poppy is flopped on her side. She grabs her by the leg, returns to where I’m sitting, and puts her next to the book.
The board book Kenda used to read to Peony.
Her favorite book.
Peony leans her chest onto the cushion, the surface of it dipping under her slight weight, and she awkwardly brings her leg up. Then in an impressive combination-wiggle-roll move that would impress even the Olympic gymnastics judges, she pulls herself onto the couch.
She crawls onto my lap, sits upright, and reaches for her panda, which is too far away for her to grab. “Poppy.” The sweet strawberry scent of her kiddy bubble bath lingers on her skin.
I hand her the panda.
Athena beams at us. “I think she wants you to read her the book.”
I show it to Peony. “You want me to read this to you?”
She taps the cover several times like it’s a drum.
“I can do that,” I tell her. Inwardly, I high-five myself.
I open the book and read the story, making funny voices for each of the animals. Peony giggles at each one, so hard, at one point she almost rolls off my legs and onto the couch.
I loosely wrap my arm across her stomach like a seat belt, keeping her in place, and finish reading the story.
Reading her this book…the one that she loves because it reminds her of her mother…it’s like…witnessing the Northern Lights, a solar eclipse. There’s no other feeling like it.
I just hope this, the way Peony is currently responding to me, isn’t temporary. I hope I won’t wake up tomorrow and find out we’ve retreated five steps overnight.
“Do you want Daddy to put you to bed?”
My breath catches at Athena’s question, and I brace for Peony’s reaction.
She peers up at me shyly. There’s no indication, no warning sign she’s about to have an epic meltdown, like I’ve witnessed more times than I care to admit. This time, she seems almost…eager. “Bed.”
“Wanna fly there like a bird?” I ask. That gets me a rapid nod.
I lift her above my head and carry her to her room. Peony is flying backward, giggling, with Poppy dangling from one of her hands. She calls out, “Whee!” like she did at the playground almost two weeks ago, when we were there with Zara.
Shit . I’ll miss her this weekend while I’m away with the army veterans.
Between that and my deadline and the increase in social media I’ll have to do for my upcoming release, I worry my progress with Peony might stop moving forward—and might even take several steps back.
And I have no idea how to prevent that from happening.
“Birdie and Poppy coming in for a landing.” I make a brrrr engine noise as I swoop Peony toward her bed.
I lay her on the mattress and pull the bedding to her chin.
“Good night, little flower.” I boop her on the nose.
This makes her giggle some more. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, probably before you’re up.
But I’ll see you Sunday night.” I boop her once more on the nose and give her panda a pat on the head.
Frightened sobs rip me away from the scene I’ve been writing nonstop for three hours and tear at my heart.
I put the laptop on my desk and rush from the room. The sound is coming from Peony’s bedroom. Her door is open and the soft glow of her nightlight barely illuminates past the threshold onto the wood flooring.
A softly spoken voice stretches from the doorway, Athena’s words too quiet to make out. Whatever she’s saying seems to do the trick. Peony’s sobs aren’t as loud now, but that doesn’t stop my feet from moving to the bedroom.
Usually, I don’t do anything when Peony wakes from a bad dream. I let Athena go to her and do what she can to make things better. But I’d be a fool, now that Peony is slowly accepting me, to not try to chase away her fears and comfort her.
Peony is sitting on Athena’s lap, safe in her arms, and sobbing against her chest .
“What happened?” I gentle my tone, strengthen my resolve not to let her tears send me running this time.
Peony turns her head at the sound of my voice, spots me in the doorway, and releases a soul-crushing scream, pitched almost high enough to shatter windows.
A scream that seems to go on forever.
“Turn the light on,” Athena hurriedly says, concern and panic hovering beneath the surface. “She doesn’t know it’s you.”
I flick on the overhead light. The bright glow floods the room, chases away the shadows.
“Look, Peony. It’s your daddy.” Athena keeps rocking Peony in her arms. “He’s not going to hurt you.”
Her words aren’t enough to calm Peony. I’m not even sure she can hear them over her strained screams.
“ Shhh , baby girl.” Athena hums a song I don’t recognize, but it appears to have a calming effect on Peony. Her screams fade by slow, sobbing increments. “It’s just your daddy. He won’t hurt you.”
“You’re safe here, little flower.” I walk farther into the room. Her face is still buried in Athena’s chest. She doesn’t turn to look at me.
I crouch at the end of the bed. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe.”
When I was little, the possibility that monsters lived under my bed was very real. My father would come in my room each night and shine a flashlight under the bed and in the closet and chase them away. Something tells me it won’t be as simple as that with Peony.
“I promise you’re safe.” Careful not to further scare her but also needing to reassure her, I place my hand on her back. Her little body stiffens briefly under my touch.
Her eyes meet mine, and her tear-soaked features morph into relief.
“I have a security alarm to keep out the scary people and monsters.” As well as stalkers who become fixated on me—the reason I got the system after the one time.
I don’t know how much of what I’m telling her Peony understands, but I keep talking, voice low, tone soothing. Maybe just hearing me will be enough to reassure her she’s safe from whatever haunts her dreams .
I pat Poppy’s head with my finger. She’s squished between Peony and Athena. Only the top of the panda’s head is visible. “You and Poppy are safe. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
Athena continues rocking Peony on her lap, and within a few minutes, Peony’s eyes drift shut.
Athena shifts her onto the bed. Peony whimpers, but her eyes remain closed.
“Don’t worry, baby girl. I’m right here.” Athena points to the overhead light, indicating for me to turn it off. “Can you grab my pillow and comforter from my room? I’ll stay with her for a while.”
“Sure.” I turn off the light, fetch her bedding and phone, and hand them to her. “I’ll be in my office.”
I would volunteer to camp out in the room, but after Peony’s reaction to me before I turned on the light, I don’t think my sleeping on her floor would be a good idea. It might only make things worse if she woke up from another nightmare and didn’t realize it was me.
I return to my laptop, but now that the flow of words has been interrupted, I can’t get back into the story.
I close my eyes and try to visualize in my head the scene playing out. But instead of the image of William Lockheart and Safina Berry, it’s Zara and me. And instead of the argument they were embattled with, I’m kissing Zara in the forest where the scene was taking place.
The only thing the visualization exercise accomplishes is it makes me want to kiss Zara again. For real.
But she hasn’t brought up our last kiss. It could be it did nothing for her—and unlike for me, she doesn’t need to get the thought of kissing me out of her system. It was never there to begin with.
Pride is a swift kick in the ass at that realization.
I need to get out of here. To get some air.
My brain is still spinning from what happened with Peony a short time ago, and I need to settle it if I want the words to flow once more.
That might be all I need to regain my focus.
I still have another few hours of writing to push through tonight, and I won’t be able to do that if I can’t stop thinking about Peony or the kiss with Zara.
I text Athena.
Me: Going out for a bit. Call me if you need anything.
Me: Or if Peony wakes up from another nightmare.
I drive toward Windermere Lake, intending to walk along the beach and watch the moon’s reflection ripple on the water’s surface. But as I approach the turn-off that will take me to Zara’s apartment, I change my mind about what I really need.
I need to see Zara. To talk to her. To hang out with her for a few minutes. I’m dealing with withdrawal from not seeing my best friend for so long. That’s why I can’t stop thinking about the kiss. Just seeing her again, without anyone else around, should stop the withdrawal symptoms.
It’s late enough Zara should be home from our weekly Game Night, but it’s not too late yet that she’s probably asleep.
In case she is, I park in Visitor Parking and send her a text.
Me: I’m downstairs. Can I come up?
Three little dots appear, and I hold my breath, waiting for her reply.
Zara: Sure. Give me a sec to buzz you in.
Me: I’m in my SUV. Will text when I get to the entrance door.
I jog to the entrance and text her. She buzzes me in.
Zara: The apartment door is open.
The elevator is on the main floor, so I take it instead of wasting time with the stairs.
The door opens on her floor, and I rush to her apartment, my long stride quickly eating up the distance. I open the apartment door and enter her foyer.
At the sight of Zara, standing in her living room, my heart clambers into my throat, making it difficult to swallow. She’s wearing loose-fitting velvet lounge pants and a silky black camisole, and fuck , my best friend looks goddamn irresistible. Sexy. Mouthwatering.
Her last boyfriend—what’s-his-name—was an idiot to give her up. To throw her away for his ex-wife.
I’m vaguely aware of Beyoncé singing in the background as I kick off my shoes.
I walk toward Zara, unable to stop staring at her. It’s not like this is the first time I’m seeing her in this outfit. But something about seeing her now, like this, is…is having a whole new effect on me.
“I—”
“I think we should kiss again.” Zara’s words are a fast-moving train, flattening what I was going to say.
It takes a brief moment for her words to register in my head. I stare at her for a rapid heartbeat, stunned. There’s not enough space in my head to get my thoughts together, and I clumsily blurt out, “You do, do you?”
“I do.” She sucks her plump bottom lip into her mouth. “But only if you do.”
I’m too busy staring at her mouth, imagining what it would be like to suck her lip between my teeth, that I almost miss her second sentence.
My gaze flicks up to meet hers. How could she possibly think I wouldn’t want to kiss her again?
“I do.” My voice is a featherlight murmur. All I seem capable of is getting lost in her beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes.
The subtle jasmine scent I associate with Zara wraps me with a need I never knew was possible. Just thinking about her lips on mine…I can barely draw air into my lungs.
She tilts her head up, her eyes telling me all I need to know. I lower my mouth to hers, giving her time to change her mind.
Christ, I hope she doesn’t change her mind.
My mouth doesn’t meet hers. It just hovers there as I breathe in her scent, her breath fanning my lips. Shit, I want to taste her so badly…
Her mouth meets mine before I can finish the thought.
Like last time, the kiss is the gentle brushing of lips.
But unlike then, the light press of my lips against hers, the tiny taste, the small sip of perfection, isn’t enough.
I want to drown in her kiss, to become intoxicated with it. To savor it.
Zara parts her lips on a gasp, so quiet I barely hear it. And without a twinge of regret or self-doubt or a second thought, I plunge my tongue into her mouth, unable to hold back any longer.
Fuck . Fuck , she tastes…she tastes like chocolate and the finest scotch and heaven all rolled into one.
She grabs a fistful of my shirt and pulls me to her. Our bodies crash together, erasing the space between us. Zara makes a tiny sound, and it’s the tinder tossed onto a campfire. Heat and desire flare in me, consume me, devour me in the best possible way.
I slide my fingers into her hair and cradle the back of her head. Tilting her head more, I deepen the kiss.
The kiss becomes a hungry exploration of her mouth, a slow dance of tongues, the drawing out of the moment. Zara moans, and I greedily absorb the sweet sound. The vibration reaches every cell, every nerve, drives every electrical current in my body.
And for the first time in a while, I feel alive. Like I can face all the problems heavily weighing on me. The book deadline. The stress of being a single father. The unknowns when it comes to Peony. As long as I’m kissing Zara, everything will be fine.
The kiss, the taste of her, the warmth of her in my arms—it all feels so good.
So addictive.
Christ, I was an idiot thinking I could easily walk away after one more kiss.
There’s no way I can’t not kiss Zara again. But how on earth do I navigate this new terrain between best friend and something more without risking a train wreck?