Page 198 of Beautiful Scars

“To an underground smuggler’s bar reeking of cigarettes and whiskey?” I ask through a laugh before punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Dad of the fucking year award, darling.”

“We could have gone to...I dunno, a McDonald’s or something.”

“Come on, Kill. Maddie’s got to get by on her own steam. Plus, she loves Sarah and Derek, and they barely get any time without you breathing down their necks.” I giggle, rubbing my hand down his thigh.

“You said I should be honest,” Kill grumbles as he takes the turn into the warehouse district.

“Yeah, about feelings and taxes and stuff. Not...” I sigh and swipe hair away from my face. “Never mind.”

“Bet you wish we’d ordered in.”

I slap his thigh for that, but I could have patted a horse on the rump for all the effect it has. We pull up into the road outside the alleyway. I’m already out of the car, snuggling into my coat when I realize Kill’s still inside. I turn and glare at him through the car window when I see he’s busy texting on his phone. I walk around to his side and rap on the window.

He exhales visibly and slowly winds down the window. “Take away?”

“Give me that.”

He hands over his phone and I delete the message he’d been typing out to send to Sarah.

Tell Mads we love her and that...

Fuck, now all I want to do is go back home! I shove the phone in my pocket and point at him, demanding he get out. He does, but as reluctantly as a kid outside the dentist.

I hold out my hand. “Now we’re going inside, and we’re going to have dinner, and it’s going to be all kinds of romantic and shit. Got it?”

His eyes narrow for a moment. Then he tugs me into him, wrapping strong arms around my shoulders and gripping me tight. “I fucking love you, Meisie Hendry.”

“And I love you too,” I murmur, nestling against his chest as a brisk breeze whips against us. “Now how about we get inside before we freeze to death?”

“Christ, it’s barely passed autumn yet,” he says, leading us over the road. “What are you going to do in the dead of winter?”

I’ve already been warned that it gets much worse than this. We got one of those electric blankets that only heats my side of the bed. “The clue is in the phrase,” I say, closing up the front of my coat with a hand. “I’ll die, is what I’ll do.”

“We’ll definitely need to be ordering in then,” he says.

“Cillian Hendry!” I turn on him, glaring as best I can. I think I’ve lost all feeling in my nose. I hold up one quivering finger. “That’s one, you miserable sonofabitch.”

He gives me the kind of grin that turns my insides to wobbly custard. “Remember what happened the last time we ate here?”

Oh God. I hadn’t forgotten—how could I?—but I had managed to put it out of my mind like a decent, civilized human being. Now I’m all horny.

“If you promise not to text or call Sarah for the next hour...” I lift my chin at him, walking backward so we’re at least making progress through the freezing cold instead of just standing in one spot. “Then I might let you kiss me.”

His eyebrows quirk up. A wisp of vapor leaves his mouth as he laughs. “Oh, princess. You think I need your permission to kiss you? What a foolish notion.”

One minute I’m tottering backward, freezing my ass off, the next he scoops me up in his arms, and he’s kissing me.

I don’t ever want that kiss to end.

That’s why I dragged him out here to celebrate our six-month wedding anniversary. I know it’s not a thing, but fuck it—I couldn’t wait for another half-a-year before making it crystal clear to Cillian Hendry that I love him.

He’s been my rock. Even with everything going on in his head, he’s never—even for one second—made me feel like I’m failing at this whole being a parent thing. He tells me every day I’m doing a good job. And I need that. I spend so much time second-guessing myself, overthinking everything, feeling like I’m in way over my head.

As if he read my mind, Kill breaks our kiss and stares deep into my eyes. “You know, you can still call her Grace when it’s just the two of us if you want.”

Madison Grace Hendry. We had her name changed when she said she wanted to come live with us.

She hadn’t even acted surprised when we told her that was her full name. She’d just toyed with one of her curls, looked us up and down, and said, “Henry? Like Horrid Henry?” And then she’d twirled around like a ballerina until she got so drunk she’d fallen over. We didn’t have the heart to mention the D. She’ll pick it up.