Page 58 of Written with You (The Regret Duet 2)
Her breath hitched, and she inched deeper into my curve, resting her hands on my pecs. “Good call.”
“Daddy! How long is Willow going to be sleeping here?”
“I don’t know. Go to sleep, Rosie Posie.”
“Will she still be here at Christmas? Can we get her a guinea pig?”
I shook my head as Willow let out a soft giggle. “It’s the summer, Rosie. We have plenty of time to worry about Christmas shopping. Now, go to sleep.”
“Will Miss Gallis be my teacher next year?”
Willow dropped her forehead to my chest and looped her arms around my waist, her breasts pillowing between us, and I felt every single curve.
I’d been performing this nighttime Q and A since Rosalee had learned to string together a sentence. I usually stood in the hall, scrolling through my phone and catching up on emails.
But this…
Holding her.
Listening to her giggle.
Knowing she was Willow and knowing she was mine.
Fuck. It was better. So much better.
“I don’t know, Rosie. But you need to go to sleep. I’m going to bed now. You do the same. Okay?”
“Okay,” she grumbled.
I released Willow and lifted a single finger in the air. “Wait for it.”
“Daddy, wait! I need one more hug.”
“Of course, you do.” I tipped my head, signaling for Willow to go to my room, and then went to hug my daughter one last time for the night.
This naturally turned into a hug and a kiss. Then turning on her bathroom light, which she declared was too bright as though I’d changed the bulbs since we’d tried it almost every night for the last two years.
Turning off her bathroom light.
Turning on her nightlight.
Another sip of water.
Finding her favorite stuffed animal, but not the one that was her favorite the last time I’d put her to bed. Her new favorite stuffed animal.
And then, finally, another hug, another kiss, and another I-love-you before I was able to leave again.
Willow was standing in the hall, a huge smile on her face. “She does that every night?”
“Pretty much.” I put a hand at her stomach, guiding her backward into my room.
I followed her step for step until she reached the edge of my bed. Rosalee was still awake and would be for some time, so there was little we could do in that bed.
But I still wanted her there.
Talking. Laughing. Freezing the guilt coursing through my veins as only she could do.
“Lay down,” I ordered.
“What if she comes in here?”
“Then she’s going to see us hanging out on my bed.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
I peeled my shirt off before climbing onto my side. “We’re going to have to tell her about us eventually. This will soften the blow.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, God, do you think she’s going to be upset?”
“No, I think she’ll be stoked. The blow will be to my wallet when she insists we throw a party to celebrate.” I pulled the covers back. “Get in bed.”
She grinned without moving. Just standing there, devastatingly beautiful and completely out of my reach. “I like parties.”
“Good. I’ll get the Daddy-has-a-girlfriend balloons ready. Now, get in my damn bed.”
She giggled, biting her bottom lip, but she finally made her way around and crawled under the covers. The only problem being that the bed was a king and she was hugging the edge like I’d just developed a case of leprosy.
She squeaked as I hooked her around the waist and dragged her toward me.
“Caven, this isn’t hanging out. Your door is wide open. She could walk in at any second.”
“Okay, so she sees us cuddling. The balloons have already been ordered, Willow. You’re stuck.”
She turned, rolling into me and tangling our legs like it was the most natural thing in the world while continuing to argue. “You haven’t ordered any balloons. We’ve been together for approximately twelve seconds. This time last week, you hated my guts.”
I bent my arm between us so my hand was under my head, and I rested the other on the curve of her hip. “I didn’t hate your guts.”
“Oh, sorry, my mistake. You only hated that you didn’t hate my guts.”
“True. But I still loved you.”
Her eyes lit, and whatever fight she was holding on to left her in the next heartbeat. Her whole body relaxed into mine. “Caven,” she breathed.
I loved the way she said my name. It was only two syllables, but she made it sound like a symphony.
“I could get used to this with you, ya know?”
Her green eyes twinkled. “I want that.”
Teasing at the hem of her shirt, I slipped two fingers beneath it and traced the scar on her side. Every raised seam caused an ache in my chest. But it soothed me as well.
She was Willow.
My Willow.
Well, almost.
Giving her a tight squeeze, I murmured, “I want you to be Willow again.”
Her brows drew together. “I am Willow.”
I trailed my fingers up her side and then moved in to dance across her collarbone. I’d never forget how many times I’d imagined tracing my tongue over the delicate curve of her neck while she was sitting at my dining room table, doing some silly craft with Rosalee. Given who she was, or who I’d thought she was, it had been wrong on more levels than I could count.
