Chapter 21
Asher
I awaken to a startling crash, my eyes flying open. Something’s different. I’m not on my usual side of the bed and the room is too bright.
When I reach across the mattress for my phone, it’s not there. Instead, I discover a body. A warm, very naked body.
“Daddy!” My daughter calls out from somewhere in the house.
“Shit. Claire,” I whisper-yell, jostling her. Her back is still slightly sticky with my cum despite my cleaning efforts last night. It would turn me on if I weren’t freaking the fuck out right now. “Claire. C’mon. Bea’s up. I don’t want her to find you in here.”
She groans, rubbing her face against the pillow. “Hmm?”
“You’ve got to wake up,” I tell her. “Bea’s going to walk in here and—”
She bolts upright and peers around, a confused expression plastered on her face. “Shit. Where are my clothes?”
“Daddy?” Bea’s right outside my door.
“Just a second, Dolly,” I call, heart hammering, cursing myself for lying down before I moved Claire. But she was so warm and… “Quick. Under the bed.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. And she’s probably right. But she complies, nevertheless.
Just in time, too, because my daughter swings the door open and hops onto my bed, oblivious to my morning crisis. When I sit up, I spy Claire’s bra and underwear off to the side on the floor and pray Bea doesn’t notice.
“Good morning,” I tell her, acutely aware that I’m naked under the sheets. “Why don’t you find some cereal, and I’ll meet you out there in a minute?”
Ignoring my suggestion, she asks, “What does S-P-A-N-K-M-E spell?”
I swear a muffled squeak sounds from beneath the bed.
“I’m sorry, what?” Surely my five-year-old didn’t just ask me what I think she did.
She’s clutching a Jenga piece in her hand. “What does S-P-A-N—”
“I heard you,” I interrupt, confiscating the block and stuffing it under my pillow. “I’ll be taking this, thank you.”
“What’s it say?” she asks again, her little brow furrowed.
“Umm…” My mind shorts out. Shit. Quick. Think of something. “It says span…spancakes.”
“Spancakes?”
“Uh-huh. Looks like someone spelled pancakes wrong. Isn’t that silly?”
Thank fuck she can’t read yet. This could’ve been bad.
I distract her with tickles, and fortunately, it works.
“All right, Daddy needs to get dressed. Go get some cereal. Then we’ll make spancakes for breakfast.”
She jumps off the bed, bypassing Claire’s underwear, and slams the door on her way out. I wait until I hear her rummaging through the pantry before I address the brunette stowaway beneath my bed.
I exhale sharply, my heart hammering. “Coast is clear.”
When Claire crawls out from her hiding spot, completely naked, she does not look happy. In fact, she looks downright pissed, her face a little red, her eyes narrowed.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “I panicked.”
“It’s fine,” she mumbles unconvincingly.
I fetch her clothes, and she slips into her leggings and T-shirt, but she doesn’t bother putting on her bra and underwear. Instead, she balls them up in her fist. Like she can’t get out of here fast enough.
“Claire, I—”
“You should go out first.” She’s turned toward me but not making eye contact.
I examine her face, trying to decipher her mood, but the expression she’s wearing is blank. She tosses my underwear and pants in my direction, then turns around so I can dress. Fuck, this is awkward.
Once I’ve snagged a clean shirt, I head for the door, not bothering to wash my face or brush my teeth. I pause, scrambling for words, but Bea calls for me again.
“Go,” Claire urges.
As the door clicks shut, I switch into my fatherly role.
Thankfully Bea doesn’t ask for more spelling lessons, and I promptly clean up the Jenga game, deliberately placing it on the highest shelf in the closet. The shirt I left behind last night gets tossed into the laundry room and I set our empty wineglasses in the sink.
I’ve just flipped the first batch of pancakes when Claire appears, fully dressed in casual clothes and with her wet hair pulled into a knot on the top of her head.
“Hi, Claire. Daddy’s making spancakes.” Bea grins proudly.
“We can just call them pancakes,” I say. I pour myself a cup of coffee and get a second mug from the cabinet.
“Do you want chocolate chips or blueberries in yours?” Bea asks.
“Oh. No thank you, Dolly. I’m gonna go into the clinic,” she says, planting a kiss on top of my daughter’s head.
She freezes for a moment, hovering over Bea, and when our eyes lock, panic flashes across her face, as if she didn’t intend to kiss my daughter.
“You don’t work until this evening, though,” I say.
With one shoulder lifted, she scans the kitchen, her expression back to being blank. “I told Jessica she could go home early.”
My stomach sinks. What am I missing here? I’m considering how to ask her why she would cut her free weekend short in a way that wouldn’t garner Bea’s attention when my little girl triumphantly spills her orange juice, giving Claire the opportunity to slip out the front door.
She’s at the clinic the entire day. Typically she spends as much time outside as she can, yet I don’t see her once, and she doesn’t come home for dinner.
I figure that once Bea is down for the night, we’ll have a conversation about what happened this morning, but one bedtime story turns into five, and then I accidentally fall asleep in her bed.
It’s after nine when I wake with a tiny foot jammed into my ribs, and when I venture into the hall, Claire’s light is off.
Defeated, I retire to my room, only to discover the porch light is on.
Peering through the blinds, I find Claire soaking in the hot tub.
Her head is resting against the padded ledge, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling rhythmically.
She looks so peaceful. As much as I hate to disrupt her, I can’t leave things the way they are any longer.
Before I allow myself to rethink it, I slip outside. I’m beside the tub before she hears me over the jets, and when she does, she launches upright and whisper-shouts an expletive.
“You’re like a fucking mouse, Greer.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She lays her head back again, and though she closes her eyes, I don’t get the impression she’s dismissing me, so I take a seat on the edge of the hot tub.
“Can we talk?”
Her eyes are still shut. “About what?”
“About what happened earlier. With Bea…”
“I’m sorry,” she says, finally looking at me, a line of concern creasing her brow.
Confused, I frown. “For what?”
“For kissing her. I know it was only on her head, but still. It just sort of happened. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt. “Bea loves hugs and kisses, and you’re a safe person in her life. It’s honestly fine.”
She straightens again, and this time I get a good look at her strapless turquoise bathing suit. “You sure?”
I nod. I never considered that she was concerned about that.
When Claire planted a kiss on my daughter’s head like it was the most natural thing in the world, it felt wholesome to me.
But when I replayed the moment in my mind later, conflicting emotions rose up and battled one another.
It should be Daisy kissing our daughter.
And yet a sense of peace washed over me when Bea was offered such genuine affection.
Similar to the feeling I get when my sister or Joey loves on her.
“That’s not what I was referring to, though,” I hedge. “I meant about her nearly walking in on us this morning.”
She shifts in her seat, grimacing. “Right. That.”
“We can’t let it happen again.”
“Oh. Of course. I get it.” She rises and climbs out of the tub, quickly covering herself with a towel. “It was fun while it lasted.”
My gut sinks, and I grasp her wrist before she can leave. “No, wait. Claire.”
Her attention falls to where I’m clutching her.
“That’s not what I meant.” I loosen my grip, but she doesn’t pull away, so I take this moment to intertwine my fingers with hers. “We just need to be more careful is all. No more sleepovers.”
“Oh.” Her chest deflates. Is she relieved? “Sure. That’s probably for the best.”
“Is this what you want? To keep having fun?”
Please say yes.
She nods. “I do. From now on, no more sleepovers. Only play dates.”
Laughing, I tug her towel free, then haul her wet body flush against mine. “Good. Because I really like playing with you.”
“Is that so?” With a smirk, she draws back.
Instantly, I miss her warmth.
As a droplet of water disappears into the divot of her bellybutton, I’m reminded of what it tastes like to lick her there. What it feels like when her stomach goes taut beneath my touch.
“We should do it again sometime.” With that, she turns on her heel and slips into her bedroom.