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I stand. “That’s my offer. Let me know if you accept.”
“We can maybe offer a loan.”
“No loan. Let me know.”
I walk up to the bank teller and deposit the check for the pad and the Porsche. Then I pull out twenty grand. It doesn’t seem like enough, but she’ll freak the fuck out. She loves me, though. She fucking loves me and finally said so exactly one month ago today, and that changed everything.
It’s Wednesday night, and I am snuggled into Marisa’s bed, which now has a canopy.
“Mommy is gonna be so mad.” She tries to keep a straight face but fails and falls into yet another giggling fit, and I can’t help laughing with her. When she has relaxed, she is looking at the bed in awe. She rolls over on her side. “You’re nice.”
“Well, I’m glad you think so, little chick.”
“I like you.” She rolls onto her back, and her smile gets even bigger. “I like you a lot.”
“I like you a lot, too.”
She yawns, reminding me it’s forty minutes past her bedtime. It took a little more time to get this bed together than I expected. The directions should have come with a warning that, if children are helping, important hardware may come up missing. In my case, it was a washer, which became a ring around a little chick’s thumb.
“You know”—she yawns again—“I said I didn’t need stories tonight, but the best daddy eva would still read me books.”
“Is that so?”
“Uh-huh,” she says matter-of-factly, nodding.
She falls asleep at the end of the second book, face toward the pink canopy. I still read four, though. Call me competitive, call me dumb, call me someone who keeps a promise, call me Caldwell.
I laugh at my thoughts.
“Call me Caldwell” used to be a way to give a chick a name without giving an actual name, a noncommittal response to make a moment seem more than just a fuck. It was a name moaned from the mouth of a stranger during a one-night stand. Shit, sometimes when I said “Call me Caldwell,” it was a blow-off.
That name means much more to me than it did only a few months ago. That name is Momma’s legacy, that name is family, and that name is mine.
I walk out of Marisa’s bedroom and close the door behind me. I have a task to complete, and I have only two hours to do it.
I grab my phone and send a text to Jagger to let him know I’m ready. Then I open the door as Jagger and Hendrix carry in one of the three boxes.
“We’ve been waiting an hour to hear from you. You better hope this goes smoothly or—”
“It’ll be fine. Just try not to use washers as rings and then let me look around for thirty minutes before you tell me you have it.”
“Ris Priss?”
“The kid loves dress-up.” I smile.
“You sure this is a good idea?” Hendrix asks as I push the new queen-sized air mattress into the corner.
“I’m sure popping the old one tipped her a little. Didn’t get my way, though. She just bought a new one, stubborn little momma. So she left me with no choice. She’ll be pissed, but she’ll get over it. I have my balls back.”
They laugh, and then we get to work.
Once we’re done, I stand back and admire the four-poster bed. It’s not a king; I did listen to her about that. And I am damn sure gonna mention that when she is stewing. Of course, the other reason I decided the queen is good is I didn’t want distance to be an option.
She walks in the door and glances around, looking beautiful in the candlelight.
I walk to her, take her purse off her arm, and set it on the table.
“Missed you tonight.” I kiss her and pull her into a tight hug.
“The light bill was paid,” she says once I loosen my hold on her, and she starts toward the light switch.
“They work.” I grab her hand and walk us to the couch, where I have a bottle of wine and two glasses waiting. “Have a seat.”
“Wow, this is nice.” She sits down with her legs tucked under her.
I hand her a glass and then pour myself one before sitting down.
“It was busy tonight,” she says after she sets her glass down on the makeshift coffee table: a pallet with wheels attached and painted black. “I think I may have made enough to buy a mattress.” She smirks.
“Is that your way of telling me you wanna go right in there and get to it?”
She twists her hair between her fingers. “This is nice.”
I sit back and take another sip of my wine. “Nice?”
She nods, grabs her glass, and drinks it down. “It was a busy night.”
I suck my cheeks in, trying not to laugh at her obvious desire.
