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“Are you sure about that?” She kicks off her shoes and crosses her legs in the seat. The black tights she’s wearing stretch over her muscles, and they’re the same distracting pair she wore on Thanksgiving. I remember those little frills at the top like the back of my hand. “Is there anything else I need to know about your family?”
“What, like if we do any sacrifices in the basement? A little late to be asking about that, don’t you think?”
Lacey rolls her eyes and reaches over to poke my ribs. I dodge out of the way and grab her hand, threading it through mine. “Tell me about your nieces. What does your parents’ kitchen look like? Is there a tire swing in the backyard?”
I rub my thumb over her knuckles and smile as we head north. “I have five nieces. The oldest is eleven and the youngest turned two last month. Parker, Madeline, Eliza, Megan and Perry—which is short for Persephone. My parents’ kitchen got remodeled four summers ago. There’s no tire swing in the backyard, but there is an old wooden bench under this big oak tree. All of our initials are carved into it.”
“So many girls.” Lacey brings her knees to her chest and turns her body to face me. “You’d be a good girl dad.”
“Oh yeah?” My eyes flick over to her, and she’s watching me with her chin cradled in her free hand. A smile pulls at her lips, and I wonder what she’s thinking about. “What makes you say that?”
“Because I know how you treat me, Maggie, and Maven. You’re not grossed out by period stuff. You think women can truly do anything. You’re patient and kind and… I don’t know. You’d be a great boy dad, too. All those football helmets and tackling and stuff. But you’re soft, Shawn. Your heart is gentle, and sometimes you like to be quiet. Perfect for girls.”
I swallow, and images of Lacey and me being parents run through my mind.
A line of girls, and I’m trying to tie ribbons in their hair.
Pink shoes.
Pink soccer cleats.
A breakfast table full of high-pitched laughter and squeals.
Fuck.
Fuck.
What thehellis going on? I’ve never imagined myself as a parent before, and definitely not with someone I’ve slept with a handful of times.
But it’s there, clear as day, like a bruise you can’t get rid of.
A thread in me pulls tight at the vision, and I blink it away.
“Thanks. Being a girl dad would be pretty fucking cool.” I squeeze her hand and let go. Maybe touching her is making me think these things, a whole life of happily ever after stretching out in front of me every time her palm connects with mine. “Want to put on some music?”
“Sure. What are you in the mood for? How about some songs from the sixties? That’s close to your generation.”
“Jesus, Daniels. It’s too early for that kind of attack,” I say, but I laugh anyway. “Nothing from the sixties, thanks. Or country. I hate it.”
“How can you hate country?” she asks, and she sounds appalled. “An entire genre is on your shit list?”
“Yup. I don’t see why anyone would find a tractor sexy, but that’s just me.”
“So I shouldn’t sign you up for Farmers Only?”
“God, no. Can you imagine what people’s bios must say?Must love chickens. I’m all set.”
“Missed opportunity for it to saymust love cocksand for it to not mean you’re talking about organizing an orgy,” she answers, and then she bursts out laughing.
It’s uncontrollable, and I almost have to pull the car over because I’m cackling too hard. Tears fill my eyes, and my sides ache. Lacey howls beside me, her face buried in her hands and her shoulders shaking.
God, she’s fun.
I could listen to her stupid jokes for hours and they’d never get old.
“You know, if the whole badass-pediatrician-who-helps-the-community thing never pans out, you might have a career in standup,” I say when the giggles subside.
It dulls to quiet, and all I can hear is her gentle breathing. The sound of the road beneath the car. The beat of my heart when she practically climbs across the center console to loop her arm around mine and rest her head on my shoulder. I should tell her to stop being reckless, to sit back down and not get too close, but I can’t.
