“Okay, Rocket. Go for it.” He walks over to us, fidgeting with his tie. “Can you help me out, Cherry?” I reach up and straighten it, smoothing my hands down the front of his shirt when I’m done, feeling the muscles bunch and tense.
“You look great,” I say softly.
He leans down to kiss me, but I lean back, glancing around for Peyton, but the room’s empty.
“She’s not here. And I want to kiss you properly,” he growls before capturing my lips. We fuse together for several minutes, and I itch to reach up and mess his now-styled hair. When we part, I can see his pulse fluttering in his neck, and I drift my hand over it.
“Just curious, what does Peyton think our relationship is?”
Ronan tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, letting his fingers trail down my neck. “She’s four, her understanding of romantic relationships is limited. She’s also never seen me with a woman.” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I told her you and I are really good friends, that I liked you a lot, and I would be holding your hand, hugging you, and kissing you sometimes. She asked if it would be like when I hold her hand.” He chuckles. “Trust me, trying to decide how to explain the difference wasn’t easy. So for now, I sort of glossed over it. I hope that’s okay?”
He sounds earnest in his checking in with my feelings, which touches me. It’s his daughter, but he’s making it clear that I matter, as well.
“Of course it is,” I reply easily. “I’ll go along with whatever you think is best.”
He tilts his head down, his lips finding my forehead again. “We’re a team in this, Willow. She’s my daughter, but you’re my girl. Your opinion matters.”
“And that means the world to me.” I lift up on my toes to kiss him properly, just in time for Peyton to return.
“Daddy, I’m hungry.”
Giving my man a smile, I wink. “I’ve got this, you need to get going.” Grabbing Peyton’s hand, I lead her out of his room. “C’mon, Pey, you can help me make dinner.”
A few minutes later, Ronan hugs both of us goodbye, and then he’s gone, leaving me with his precious little girl. The level of trust that shows he has in me isn’t something I’m taking for granted.
Together we make macaroni and cheese with some veggies I cut into funny shapes, a trick I used to try with Cooper when we were struggling to get him to eat vegetables. Star-shaped cucumber slices were his favourite, and to my relief, Peyton loves them, too. After we eat and I put the dishes into the dishwasher, I turn to the little girl with my hands on my hips.
“Alright. What are we going to play now?”
“Baseball!” Peyton chirps excitedly, running off to her playroom. I follow her down the hall and find her struggling to set up a small plastic tee, holding a foam ball and bat in her hands.
I hurry over to her side, taking the bat and ball out of her hands. “Hold on, one step at a time. Are you allowed to do this inside?” I ask somewhat skeptically. But she nods so emphatically, I guess I’ll believe her.
“Yup. Only with the foam ball. If I wanna use a hard one, we hafta be outside and Daddy wears his glove. He says I hit real hard,” she states with a proud smile.
“I bet you do,” I say in return. “Alright, let’s see it, slugger.”
“Wait, we need the net.”
Marching over to the closet, Peyton pulls out a small net that she stands at one end of the room. There’s no denying she’s a baseball player’s kid with this setup. I help her line up the tee, then step back.
“Watch this, Willow.” She swings wildly, missing the ball and whirling around with a giggle. “Oops.”
“Plant your feet,” I say encouragingly. Her little tongue pokes out the side of her mouth as she takes another swing, this time connecting, sending the little foam ball into the net.
“Excellent! Home run,” I cheer, clapping my hands.
Peyton gives me a grin. “You try!”
“Wow, okay,” I say, pretending to be nervous. “It’s been a while since I hit a ball. I’m not as good as you are, that’s for sure.”
“That’s ’cause my dad taught me a lot,” she says confidently. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you.” Her adorable face makes me smile in return. And for the next half hour, we take turns hitting the ball, then switch to tossing it gently to each other before she gets distracted by a board game sitting on a table. We play that, then Peyton decides it’s movie time.
Finally, two hours later, her eyelids are drooping as I turn off the TV. “Come on, kiddo. It’s late. We gotta get you to bed,” I say quietly.
Instead of standing up, Peyton lifts her arms up, and my heart swells at the gesture. Trying to ignore the moisture in my eyes from this sweet little girl, I pick her up, but when she rests her head on my shoulder, her arms wrapped around my neck, I feel one tear escape.
Carrying her to her bedroom, I help her into pajamas and her bathroom routine. Once she’s settled in bed, her eyes barely open, I sit next to her. “Thanks for being so much fun, Peyton.”
