“Well, dewy doesn’t come naturally to some,” she counters.
I huff out a laugh. “You drive me fucking crazy,mia tortina. It’s getting harder and harder for me to keep my hands off you.”
“Then don’t,” she replies, and just like that, she floors me.
Chapter 32
Dominic
My heart squeezes in my chest the second Emily drives through the entrance to a wildlife park an hour out of town. The last good memory I have of my family, before my life literally imploded, was going to Taronga Western Plains Zoo in Dubbo when I was a kid. It was the only family holiday I remember us taking.
I would’ve been around six years old at the time, and I got such a kick out of pointing out all the animals to Violet and watching her face light up with amazement. She worshipped the ground I walked on back then, and I felt the same about her. Boy, how times have changed.
“We’re spending the day here?” I ask, glancing over at Emily as I remove my seat belt. She drove, since she didn’t want to ruin the surprise. I was hesitant to hand over the keys, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer, which, I’ve got to say, was pretty damn hot. I’m not used to people standing up to me.
“Not a fan of the zoo?” she asks, side-eyeing me as she kills the engine.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“I came here on a school excursion once.”
“You did? What was it like?” I ask.
“Honestly, I loved it, but I was fourteen, so no hating on me if my memory is trash,” Emily says, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder like she’s suddenly self-conscious.
I huff out a laugh. “No promises.”
Her grin is bright, but I can see she’s nervous, like she’s waiting to see whether I’m going to chew her out for bringing us here. I’m not.
My chest might be tight enough to crack ribs, but I’m not running. I may have to face some shit from my past that I’ve tried to bury because they’re too painful to relive, but she was right when she said Lil’ Peach would love it.
I move around the car to collect Peach from her booster seat, while Emily heads to the back to get the stroller.
“You ready to see all the animals, baby girl?” I ask as I reach in and unclick her seat belt.
“Fat Cat,” she replies, clapping her hands.
That spoiled, fat, overfed furry shit was sprawled on the front porch when we exited the house, its sides spilling out like dough left too long to rise.
I lift Peach out of her booster and sink my lips into one of her chubby cheeks. She looks cute, but kind of ridiculous too because she’s wearing her tutu over pink jeans.
It was a compromise Emily negotiated after Peach completely lost her shit when I wouldn’t let her wear her entire ballet outfit.
I don’t usually have a problem with what she wears; most days she picks out her own clothes. As sweet as she looks in her sparkly leotard, though, I wasn’t letting her wear it in public.
The moment I told her no, she threw herself onto thefloor like a demon child, thrashed, kicked, and screamed bloody murder. It was probably the closest I’ve ever come to losing my temper with her. But then Emily appeared, calm as a storm’s eye and within minutes, the tears were gone, the crisis resolved, and order restored. It was as if the tantrum had never happened at all.
I carry Lil’ Peach around the back of the vehicle and lower her into the stroller, carefully strapping her in. Emily hangs the bag—stuffed with snacks, wipes, and a complete change of clothes—over the handles before leaning down to slip a hat onto Peach’s head and pass her a sippy cup.
She’s slipped into the role of a mother figure as if it’s always been hers, natural and effortless.
Watching Emily with my little girl does something to me, something I can’t quite explain. It’s no secret I want this woman, but there’s something playing out here. Something tangible.
I can’t stop thinking about what she said to me this morning when I told her it was getting harder and harder to keep my hands to myself.
