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I look up and stare at Dallas leaning in the doorway. Worried shadows cross his face, and he gnaws on his bottom lip.
“Why in the world would she need gloves?” I ask. “We’re going to Ohio in October. It’s seventy degrees.”
“What if a cold front passes through and all she has are shorts and T-shirts?” He exhales a ragged breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’d freeze to death.”
“What the hell is going on, Dallas?”
“I don’t know.” He walks into my room and takes a seat on the edge of my bed. He stretches back and grabs a fluffy pillow from near the headboard and holds it close to his chest like a security blanket. “I’m freaking out.”
“Clearly.” I shove a pair of socks into the zippered pocket of my suitcase and stand up, joining him on the mattress. “Talk to me, Lansfield.”
“I’m really happy y’all are coming, but I’m also nervous. I’m thinking about worst case scenarios, and I want to throw up.”
“Oh, that’s why you’re panicking? I thought it was because you had another nanny and daughter you’re trying to hide from us.”
“No.” His laugh is soft and hesitant, but I take it as a victory. “This is her first time leaving the confines of D.C. What if your plane crashes? What ifmyplane crashes?”
“What if a meteor hits Earth? What if the dinosaurs get out of the theme park again?” I ask, and he levels me with an unimpressed look. “Sorry. I’m trying to lighten the mood, but I sound like an asshole. Look. I know you’re anxious. Not only are you on the road for a game, but you’ll have the added pressure of your daughter being in a world she’s not familiar with. That’s scary.” I take his hand in mine and wrap our fingers together, holding him tight in what I hope he understands is a reassuring squeeze. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation, and his eyes meet mine. “I trust you more than I trust anyone else, Maven,” he adds, and my stomach flip-flops when his voice dips to low and sincere.
It’s one of the nicest things he’s said to me. I know he doesn’t give out that trust freely. You have to work for it,earnit, and being one of the select few to have it causes pride to zip up my spine.
I sit up a little straighter and give him a smile that turns distracted when his eyes drop to my lips and linger on my mouth before looking away.
I thought about kissing you for the first time, and now I can’t stop.
His words come back to me like they have every night when I’m in bed—down the hall from the man I can’t have—and hopelessly wondering what he’s thinking.
I wonder if he thinks about me the way I think about him when we’re next to each other on the couch. A television show will be on for background noise but we talk through it because we keep remembering stories to share: the funny things June said at dinner. Plans for the next day and a new recipe he wants to try.
Easy, seamless, the kind of talks where you have a two-hour conversation then lapse into silence that feels comfortable and right. An unhurried drift toward quiet contemplation and just enjoying the moment.
And,god, I want to kiss him, too.
Every day I spend with him, I realize I’m past considering him a friend.
I’m attracted to him, a connection forging between us with every brush of our elbows and every small smile we share over mashed potatoes and meatloaf.
I want him, and I hate that I can’t have him.
I hate that I can’t do anything besides admire the view. To flirt a little and appreciate the way his eyes roam down my body when I want him to do so much more.
“It’s no different than any other day when you leave for practice. Or the other away games this season,” I say when I find my voice again. “I’m still a phone call—and a hotel room door—away. Think of how fun it’s going to be for June to be in a suite and watch her dad play football in person for the first time. It’s going to be so special, Dallas.”
He relaxes, and I know I’m saying the right things. The true things. He gets in his head about being a parent, and any time I get the chance to remind him how great he’s doing at raising a tiny human, I jump at the opportunity.
He loves the praise and I love the way he lights up when I call him a good dad.
It makes me want to melt.
“You’re right,” he says.
“Of course I’m right.” I nudge his shoulder with mine, and he squeezes my hand. “It’s going to be fine. I know you were joking about plane crashes, but you do realize the statistical probability of that happening is?—”
“Yup. You don’t have to tell me, and maybe we shouldn’t speak it into existence.” His smile is shy, and he runs his free hand through his hair. A lock falls across his forehead, and I have the urge to brush it away. “I’m being a helicopter parent, and I’m sorry. I know you know how to do your job and take care of June—you do it damn well, Maven. Knowing this is another first we’re crossing off the list has me wishing we could slow down time.”
“Time is a bitch.” I sling my arm around him and give him a sideways hug. “Imagine how different life would be if we had the ability to pause it and correct our mistakes or pick a different path after knowing the consequences of our actions. That’s why we have to enjoy where we are right now; there’s no going back.”
