My lips tip up. “Yeah, kiddo. Us against the world. So you get a vote, remember? Even if you changed your mind. It’s okay if you did.”
I’ll still honor the deposit I stated in the agreement. Even if I pack up her old, beat-up truck and send her back home. I’m still reeling from the unexpected switch. I’m still convinced she’s too damn young, and I wanted a widow who’d get it.
But I did recognize it. The grief she carries in her hazel eyes.
And you’re attracted to her.
Fuck. This is a bad idea. Please tell me to back out of this, Olive.
“You can marry her, Daddy. She can join our family. It’s sad when you don’t have family. We can be her family now.”
Well, shit.
“You’ve got a big heart, baby girl. I love you.”
“Love you, Daddy. And Ginger loves you, too. Kiss Ginger, Daddy.”
Sugar and spice, this one.
The dog, knowing her duty, lifts her head and pants in wait.
“You love me, too?” I ask the golden retriever that’s bigger than my daughter.
Ginger softly barks.
“See, Daddy? Tooooold ya.”
“Right,” I grumble jokingly and pepper kisses over Ginger’s head until she starts attacking me with licks.
And this is my reward. The high-pitched, soft giggles of my almost six-year-old girl.
“Miss Iris, I said to Daddy that he can marry you,” Olive calls out between laughter.
I lift my head, surprised to see the young—too damn young—woman leaning around the doorframe. That yellow sundress is going to haunt my dreams.
This is a really bad idea.
“Sorry,” her husky voice softly apologizes. “I’m ready when you are. Just wanted to let you know.”
“Come see my room, Miss Iris. And meet Ginger,” Olive enthuses, standing on her mattress.
“Careful.” I reach out, ready to catch her if need be.
My body tenses as she approaches. The wildflower scent she carries is messing with my senses. Her long, light brown hair is a little wild. Her skin has been kissed by the sun. Thick brows over hazel green eyes. Thick lashes, small nose, and perfectly pouty lips. She’s angelic, almost, but then she speaks, and that husky note in her voice drips of sin waiting to ensnare any man.
We shouldn’t do this. Her sister was supposed to be here. A sensible widow whose picture didn’t stir, not even a goosebump. But this? Her? The moment I opened that door, I hated myself for how just the sight of her, the smell of her, made me feel.
Treacherous.
I watch her interact with my daughter and our dog. She easily laughs with Olive. Ginger’s already showering her with kisses.
And I could have gone my whole life not knowing what her laugh sounds like…because now, I’ll never forget it.
It’s sweet with a hint of a wheeze that almost brings a smile to my face. Would have, if I didn’t just fight it from appearing.
But damn, I feel it. It lingers like aftereffects in your bloodstream.
Fuck, Gillian. Forgive me.
