Chapter Forty-Seven
Forty-Seven
“Again! Again!”
That giggle. God, that giggle. Cutest sound I’ve ever heard.
She’s quick on the trigger, misting with purpose. My scrunch is no longer instinct but performance.
“Damn, girl,” I laugh, fanning my cheeks. “You trying to give me the dewiest face in the world?”
Her nod is full of enthusiasm, but I can bet her adorable little grin she has no clue what that means. It doesn’t matter that I can practically taste rosewater on the back of my tongue; her happiness is too contagious to not let her have at it.
“What if I do it on you now?” I turn the bottle on her, and the shriek that bursts out is so high-pitched it makes me throw my head back with laughter. She’s just too cute. The twin braids Carson tied off with neat little bows aren’t helping.
When he asked if I could watch her for an hour, I jumped at the chance. Didn’t know it would end with me cross-legged on the floor while she rummaged through my makeup bag—but hey, I’m not complaining.
Guess I’m getting a makeover.
She brandishes a concealer from the pile.
“Finally onto something new, huh?”
Ten minutes later, I look like I’ve been kissed by the sun, then left to bake in it. She loves blush, but really, who am I to stop her? She’s in full glam mode, and she’s loving every second.
She holds up a sleek tube. “What’s this?”
“Lipstick.” I twist it open. “See?”
Her gasp could win an Oscar. “So sparkly!”
The glitter practically winks back at me through the blue of her eyes.
“Want to put it on me?” I offer, knowing the nod before it happens.
She takes the challenge seriously, and when she’s done, my lips are more glitter than skin—but at least it’s mostly in the right place.
“Okayyy,” I gush, angling the compact. “Not bad.”
I blot with a tissue, showing her the art of the lipstick kiss.
“Wow.” Her little fingers trace the mark like it’s treasure. “Can I try? Please?”
How can I deny those doe-eyes?
“Okay. Just a little.”
I hold her chin still, careful with each stroke. As I pull the tissue free, a streak of colour flashes from beneath the box. Another one.
Hannah squints. “Is that a flower?”
“It is.” My smile comes stupid before I can stop it.
Today it’s a daisy—pressed flat, sun-bleached, perfect.
I never know where the next one will turn up.
Yesterday it was a bluebell in my tote; the day before, sprigs of lavender waiting on the pillow beside me when I woke.
“Your brother’s been hiding them for me. ”
Each one feels like a whisper meant for me alone.
Hannah’s fingers trace the outline, her tongue poking at the corner of her mouth in focus. Then she squints up at me. “You like Car?”
Like. I know exactly what she’s asking, and my voice drops a decibel to match hers. “Yes.” How can I deny it? I can’t, not to her, not to anyone, not even to myself. And like isn’t even the word. What do you call it when someone softens your heart, makes it his? “A lot.”
She looks thoughtful, and my heart drums a wild beat in my chest while I wait. When she finally says a simple “okay,” it nearly breaks me. Then she smiles, just a little, and that lipstick-smudged gesture stitches me right back up.
An idea sparks then, giddiness chasing it close behind.
“Why don’t we make a scrapbook page full of kisses for him? You think he’ll like that?”
Of course she does.
We throw ourselves into it, lipstick and laughter smudging everywhere until the page blooms in a kaleidoscope of reds and berry tones. Some prints come out neat and careful, others smeared with childlike abandon.
Hannah holds it up proudly. “Look! This one’s mine and yours together.”
Sure enough, there’s a blot where our prints collide.
“Do you think he’ll like it?”
“He’ll love it.”
Right then the door clicks. Hannah bolts upright. “Quick! Hide it!”
Too late. Carson fills the doorway, cap backward, a white T-shirt stretched across his chest. His gaze sweeps the chaos—lipstick tissues, glitter pens—and when it lands on us cross-legged in the middle, it softens.
“What are my girls up to?”
My girls.
I don’t know how he expects me to find words after that, but thankfully Hannah’s got it covered. “We made you something!”
“You did, huh?” His brows lift, and a smile tugs at his mouth as he glances my way.
“Yes! Come here.” She drags him down into a crouch, covers his eyes, then shoots me a conspiratorial grin.
“One… two… three!” Her hands fly off. “Look! Kisses from us!”
He blinks once, twice, then takes it from me on the third, his hand hovering over the page. “You two… made this?”
“Uh-huh!” Hannah bounces excitedly. “That one’s mine! And that’s Bri’s. Hers are bigger.”
“Wow,” he mutters, eyes still fixed. Like we’ve handed him stars pressed flat on paper instead of lipstick smears made in fifteen minutes. “You really made this?”
I shrug, aiming for casual, but my heart is anything but. “Figured you needed something pretty to look at.”
His gaze lifts then, slow and tender. “Got that covered already.”
Too much. I glance away, but not before he sees the pure joy breaking across my face.
Hannah swings his arm, eager. “Do you like it, Car?”
The grin that takes over his face is so wide I’m nearly floored by the unfamiliar stretch of it.
“I love it.” He pauses, eyes glinting with mischief. “But maybe I need a real one. Right here.” He taps his cheek.
Hannah doesn’t wait. She launches forward with a giant mwah. “There!”
“More,” he teases, laughter rumbling. Then his eyes flick sideways. “You too. Come on.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m already leaning in and planting kisses where Hannah did. His cheek, his brow, the tip of his nose.
Laughter spills. Bright, tangled. Ours, his. All mixed together until the sound doesn’t belong to anyone.
The whole room feels buoyed by it.
“Again,” he breathes.
“You’re so greedy, Car!”
“Yeah,” I tease, though the matching breathless note betrays me. “So greedy.”
I don’t stop. I go in again, and again, until he’s a canvas of kisses. Red, pink, joy-coloured. And he doesn’t seem to mind. Not one bit.
Then he turns, just enough for our eyes to meet.
My lipstick’s wrecked. My heart’s worse.
His smile curves into something unguarded.
Real.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”
Hannah doesn’t hear it.
But I do.
And I feel it too.