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“God, no,” she sighed, brows winging up as her hands came to wipe at her face again. “The logistics are just?—”
“Then hold up. Because I’m not willing to let you go?—”
“And I can’t ask you to give up tenure, Brod. That’s not a minor accomplishment.”
“Fuck.” I freed one hand from where it rested on her back to rub over my jaw.
“Heads up!” A distinctly male voice broke our moment, jerking both of our attention to the side as a football made a beeline for Elora. I spun her behind me, stretching the opposite hand out to catch the ball.
“Jesus,” she barked, hands in front of her face as I clamped my fingers into the laces.
“Damn!” I now realized ‘the voice’ belonged to a grinning young man with a willowy frame and skin a shade darker than Dad’s. When the hell did I become the old guy? “Nice catch, man!” A couple of buddies jauntily sidled up beside him as I tossed it back, earning a, “Thanks!” and a happy wave from the lot of them.
“Have a good one,” I called back.
“Learn how to aim,” El muttered petulantly. Her irritation reminded me of the way Dad was always soothing my mother’s temper, and I narrowed my eyes.
“You and Marley aren’t allowed to be friends.”
She grinned, shaking her head and taking a steadying breath as she tipped her face up to the sun, just breathing it in for a minute.
“So, we have some evaluation ahead of us. Some pro and con lists.”
A little giggle broke free from her lips before she said, “You can say that again. We’re in… a pickle.”
“Okay, this is more than a pickle,” I allotted, earning a watery little laugh.
“But we tackle this together. I didn’t wait my whole damn life for this just to lose you in the end.”
“Me either,” she admitted. “But I don’t have answers for Rhy and James right now.”
“Then we take a few days. We analyze. We talk. We decide together what the hell the best next move is.” I brought my hands up to hold either side of her face. “Right?”
She sucked down a breath before giving me a nod. The tone in her voice said she was still convincing herself as much as me. “Right.”
TWENTY-NINE
ELORA
“There, all better, huh?” I cooed as Quinny’s dimples popped into existence. “Just needed a change, and some cuddles, and all is well. Huh, baby girl?”
“Aoooom.”
“Aooom,” I echoed back, my cheeks aching with how much this girl made me smile. “Aooom,” I repeated, mostly because it made her giggle, but partially because if I allowed my brain to go silent, it rapidly sunk into spiraling panic. Panic over Broderick. Panic over the show. Over what I actually wanted amongst all the unknowns. If I eliminated all the factors out of my control, where did I want to settle? Did I want to keep traveling? Speaking? Doing book tours? Or did I want to plant roots somewhere, and if I did plant them, where?
Oh god. Opting for a safer topic, I squeaked, “Aooom.”
“Momomom,” she babbled back, bending in half to pull her little toes toward her mouth.
“Yes, I know. But mom mom is getting some time with dada.”
“Dog.”
“Da-da,” I emphasized each syllable.
“Dog,” she repeated, before popping a big toe into her mouth.
“Ew,” I said, wrinkling my nose and trying to free her chubby little digit. “We don’t suck on toes, Quinny.” I pursed my lips, narrowing my eyes at the little sunspot, now sporting a clean diaper and the cutest glittering red tutu dress that showed off priceless Michelin Man worthy rolls on her arms and legs. I needed to squeeze her forever and ever and smother her in so many kisses it was ridiculous. The palm tree wrapped in Christmas lights on her chest was even cute, although I wasn’t entirely convinced spending Christmas somewhere warm wasn’t sacrilege.
