Chapter 57
Remington
"I love it when you tell me stories, Juniper," Canyon says, looking up from the bed. "You're such a good storyteller."
"Thanks, Canyon," Juniper says sweetly as she pats down Canyon's hair.
I can't keep my eyes off her. She looks absolutely stunning.
I would never tell her this because I don't know if she would believe me, but she looks like the most beautiful woman in the world.
Her blue eyes stand out against her creamy skin, and her long hair is dark and silky.
She's wearing a tight top, which leaves nothing to the imagination, and her boobs look luscious.
Her skirt is whispering to me to be lifted, and it's taking everything in me not to just pull her into my bedroom and rip off her clothes and devour her.
"Daddy, I wish you could tell stories like Juniper," Canyon says, and I just nod.
"So do I. Ready for bed?"
"Yes, Daddy. Thank you for letting me watch the movie. It was really fun."
"I love Home Alone," Juniper added. "It was one of my favorite movies when I was a child."
"I love it, too. Though, I don't think I want to be home alone. It would be scary," Canyon says.
"Don't worry, darling, I would never leave you home alone." I walk over and give her a kiss on the forehead, and she beams up at me.
"I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, Canyon." I look over at Juniper, and her eyes look misty, like she wants to cry. I walk towards the door and turn off the light. Juniper follows behind me.
"Night, Canyon."
"Night, Juniper."
We leave Canyon's room, and I close the door. Juniper looks over at me with a warm smile. "You told her you love her."
"I did," I say with a slight nod. "What? Does that surprise you?"
"I mean, the first time she told you that she loved you, you didn't say it back, and I wondered if you just had a hard time saying the words, but you said it."
"I think when you have a child, it's easy to let go of your inhibitions," I say. "It's easy to love freely and with all your heart. Would you like a glass of wine?"
We walk back toward the living room and the kitchen. She looks at me demurely. "So you're not completely cold after all."
"I'm not." I grin at her. I grab her hand and trace my finger across her palm. She gasps slightly. I see her lower lip trembling. "Now it's the adult time," I say softly, wondering if she's going to ask to leave, if she's changed her mind. "I've been waiting for this."
She looks up at me, and this time, her stare is obstinate. Her eyes are determined. Her lips are pouted, but in a way that shows me that she's ready for fun. She's ready for the night to begin.
"You can back out. Maybe things were said in the heat of the moment that you regret." I head over to the kitchen and grab a bottle of red wine and two glasses. "Do you like Merlot?"
"Always." She heads towards me.
I grab the bottle opener, open the bottle, and turn back toward her. "You look like—"
"Please don't say a supermodel," she says, wrinkling her nose.
"That's not what I was going to say."
"Okay, what were you going to say?"
"I was going to say that you look like a woman in a Renaissance photo."
"In a Renaissance photo?" She makes a face.
"I mean painting." I correct myself. "I guess I was so taken aback by your beauty that..."
"Oh, no, please don't lay it on that thick, Remington. I get it. I got a makeover, and now you see how different I look, and..."
"I think you looked beautiful before you got the makeover," I say quickly. "You do know that, right?"
She blinks at me. "Not as beautiful as I look now, though."
"You look different. Now you look polished. But previously, you looked young and innocent and..."
"So, what are you saying, that now I look old and promiscuous?”
I start chuckling then. “Well, that’s not exactly what I was going to say, but...”
“But what? That’s what you’re thinking?”
“Not at all. I know you’re not promiscuous. You’ve never even had sex.”
“I mean, after tonight, those words won't be true." She licks her lips nervously.
"Perhaps they won't, or perhaps they will," I say, handing her a glass of wine. "Let's not rush into anything."
She blinks slowly as she takes a sip of the wine. "This is really good."
"I'm glad you like it. I picked it up in Napa Valley a couple of years ago, but was saving it for a special occasion.”
“Oh, my gosh," she says, pulling the glass away from her mouth. "This wasn't expensive, was it?"
"I'm not going to tell you how much it cost, but let's just say you're not going to find it at Trader Joe's for twenty dollars."
"You really didn't have to open a bottle of expensive wine for me."
"I opened it for us, and tonight is a special occasion." I take a sip of the wine, close my eyes, and enjoy the tannins and the berry flavors as they go down my throat smoothly. "I am glad you're here. Canyon really likes you."
"I like her, as well. She's a really cool kid."
"When I first met her, I thought she was shy," I say.
"And then when her mom left, she tried to hit me up for a hundred bucks, and I was panicking thinking I had some psychopath as a child, but I think she was just testing me to see what I would do and how I would react.
And now it's almost like she's always been in my life.
I can't even imagine a time without her. Does that make sense?"
She nods slowly. "It does. She's a part of you. I mean, she's literally half you."
"Which is crazy," I say. "I never wanted a kid, but I couldn't imagine not having Canyon."
"Canyon's lucky to have you as a father."
"Do you really think so?" I say the words lightly, but her answer matters to me.
I don't know why I am so concerned by what she thinks about me, but I want her to have a good opinion.
I want her to think that I'm the sort of man that...
I pause from my thoughts. I don't know why I'm thinking this way.
"I think you're an amazing father, and you're an amazing boss, and I hope you'll be an amazing lover."
"Are you just here because you want me to take your flower?"
"I don't have a flower." She grins. "But I do have my virginity. And don’t worry, I’m not going to make you marry me.” She grins.
“I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of men who take women’s virginities having to marry them?”
“No. Normally it’s men who knock a lady up, and well, unknowingly, I knocked up Karen, and I’m definitely not marrying her.”
“So, if you knocked me up, you wouldn't marry me?"
She gives me a small smile, but I can't help but wonder if she's being serious.
"I think if you became pregnant with my child, I would propose," I say in all seriousness, and she gasps.
"What? Why?"
"Because I know you, and I know a life with you would be"—I lick my lips as I step forward—"quite enjoyable.
" I watch as she swallows hard. She doesn't say anything in response, and I'm glad she doesn't. There's a magnetism between us, something in the air that feels otherworldly, and I don't want to break it.
I grab her hand and take the wineglass and place it on the countertop.
"Would you like to dance?" I ask her softly.
"Sure," she says.
I spin her around, and we chassed into the living room.
"Hey, Google," I say. "Play Frank Sinatra.
" Within seconds, “Strangers in the Night,” one of my favorite Frank Sinatra songs, starts playing, and I sing along in her ear as I press her body towards mine, and we dance.
She doesn't say a word, and neither do I, aside from the lyrics to the song.
The next song starts playing, and I grab her hands and pull her closer to me.
I stare into her azure eyes, and then I kiss her lightly.
Her lashes brush against my cheeks, and I feel the delicate touch of her skin against mine.
"This feels like magic," she says, and I nod because I agree.
I grab the back of her head and kiss her hard.
She kisses me passionately, and I can feel her heart racing.
I spin her around so that her back is pressed into me.
My hands go around her waist and up so that they're cupping the underbelly of her breasts.
Her hands come up and hold mine, and I kiss the side of her neck.
She's breathing rapidly now. I'm hard, and I want her to know just how much she affects me.
I push myself into her so that she can feel my rigid length behind her, and she gasps.
"Someone's excited to see me," she says, and the words make me laugh. I can see her smiling. "Are you sure that we shouldn't go into your bedroom?" she whispers. "I don't want to wake Canyon."
"I'm sure," I say softly. "Once she goes to bed, she's normally fast asleep."
"Oh, that's good," she says idly. And I know that she's just trying to play for time. We're both trying to play for time.
"I don't want this moment to end," I say.
"Me either," she whispers back. I run my fingers across her stomach, and she squeezes my hands.
"Tell me a story," she says, standing there as an Ella Fitzgerald song starts playing.
"What do you want me to tell you a story about?"
"I don't know... any story."
I stand there for a couple of moments, trying to encapsulate what I'm feeling.
"There was once a man," I say, "looking around my luxurious living room, staring out at the tall buildings with the glittering lights, staring at the wine bottle and the wineglasses, my leather couch, my Persian rug, all the small things that made up my home but didn't make it homey.