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“Who's there?” A gruff voice asks behind the door.
“M-My name is February Graham. I am looking for Albert Jackson.” See. I can hear the hope. Suddenly, the door opens, and a man in a wheelchair answers.
“Whose looking for him?” I know immediately it is him, but his disposition is making me feel uneasy. I grip her hand, hoping she can feel my warning and my need to console her.
“Uh, I was wondering if, by chance, you donated sperm before you joined the military?” I can tell she is nervous because she doesn’t normally lead with that, but at the same time, it doesn't look like this old man is going to let us like in the others have so far so why not get it over with?
“Who the hell knocks on a man’s door asking personal questions like that? Y'all some sort of bible-thumping reprobates trying to recruit me into your cult? Cause let me tell you, me and God ain’t got much else to say to one another since he took my legs from me so you can get your nonsense off my porch before I reach back and shoot some buckshot into both of you.” She opens her mouth to say something else, but I grab her hand hard and shake my head before practically pulling her off that man’s porch.
“Jesus,” I say when we get into the rental car. She says nothing. Once we are out of his driveway, and down the street, I finally take a look at her and see her biting her lip. I am about to say something dirty when I realize she is silently crying, and tears have fallen while she is looking at her phone. “February, what’s going on?” She wipes her face and shakes her head. I don’t like her keeping shit from me, not when my job is to stand between her and pain of any kind. “Come one. What do you say we get some ice cream and talk? How does that sound?” She looks at me, her smile not reaching her eyes, but with her puffy eyes, she has never looked more beautiful.
“Sure,” she says before putting her phone back.
We drive a while before coming to their downtown area, and I see an old-fashioned type of ice cream place. We order it and walk outside to see at one of their umbrella stands. “Are you going to talk to me, beautiful?” She blushes and takes a lick of her cone. I watch her moan when the caramel praline hits her tongue. “Fuck,” I groan, wiping my hands down my face. She looks at me like she doesn’t know exactly what she did, but I'm not buying it.
The thing is, neither of us has spoken of that kiss, and it is not because I don’t want to, but I also know she is dealing with a lot, and I don’t want to be the creep trying to get into her panties while she is emotional and shit unless I am the one who made her that way. “Sorry,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, trying to hide her smirk. Yeah, my ass.
“You’re not now, but you will be, baby.” Her mouth forma an ‘O’, and I can’t miss the chance. “Yeah, that will be one of the ways I show you who is in charge.” She basically chokes on her ice cream before she looks at me.
“I cannot believe you said.”
“Really? Seriously? You are the one making the very same noises I can't wait to hear from your fucking mouth when I am balls deep in that pussy so don’t act shocked.” Her mouth opens and closes as she tries to think of something to say. Clearing my throat, I attempt to convert the conversation. “What upset you on your phone?” The tension leaves her when I change the subject.
“Just an email from one of my mom’s. They are still upset, telling me I should stop this childish expedition and come home. Apparently a grown woman shouldn’t be worried about trivial things like the other side of her DNA.” I can hear the anger in her voice, and it pisses me off for her. I try to think of something to do, so I do what I know.
“Give it a few days, baby. I promise they will be the last thing on your mind.” Yeah that got her mind on something else. Hopefully, my cock.
CHAPTER FIVE
FEBRUARY
ONE WEEK LATER
As soon as I step on the plane, I regret all my life choices. Cupid’s Cove, Maine, is cold as hell. I pull my coat tighter around my body and walk down the stairs. Connall is behind me, close. I can feel the heat rising off of him, enveloping me.
The driver of the car he hired is waiting in the car, but he jumps out of the driver’s seat and opens the back door for us.
“Mr. Ahearn. Welcome to Maine.”
“Thank you, Foster. Here is the address we need to go to.”
“Right away,” he says, taking the Post-It I wrote the address on.
I slide into the car and Connall slides in beside me. His thigh is touching mine. It’s so hard to believe that this little touch makes me so wet. My pussy throbs like a fucking heartbeat.
We pull up in front of a small house. There are children’s toys in the yard, covered in a layer of snow that’s lightly falling. I smile when I see the Little Tyke wagon I used to have. Connall takes my hand and leads me up the icy driveway. I knock on the door, and a frazzled-looking woman with a baby on her hip opens the door.
“Hello. Can I help you?”
“Uh, is Nathan Harper here?”
“He’s not at the moment, but come in out of the weather. Nate will be home soon. He went to the store to pick up some bread and milk. We are in for some weather. I’m Nessa, Nate’s wife. How do you know my husband?” she asks, leading us to the living room. There are two older, but younger than ten, children sitting on the floor watching TV. I begin to wonder if we have the wrong person. Nessa is barely older than me.
“We don’t. I just need to ask him a question. I’m February Graham, and this is Connall Ahearn.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
