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“I broke my promise.”
“What promise?”
She gripped the straps of her backpack as she kept her head down. “When you told me not to tell Daddy what you said about him…”
I jogged my memory as I tried to think of the incident she referred to. Then it dawned on me. “You told him I loved him?”
She closed her eyes in a cringe. “Sorry…”
“Why? Did he ask?”
“No.”
I released a sigh. “Then why did you do it?”
“I don’t know… Because I want you guys to get married and live happily ever after.”
It was sweet enough to warm my heart, but I was still thoroughly embarrassed. “What did he say when you told him?”
“Nothing.”
Of course he did. He’d already said he didn’t love me. Geez, this would be awkward.
“I asked him if he loved you too, but he said that was between you guys.”
I didn’t know how I would face him. Would he be distant? Would he avoid me? “Claire, when did this happen?”
“I don’t know…a couple days ago.”
“Oh…” Nothing was different between us, so I guess it didn’t bother him after all.
“I’m really sorry. I just got so excited…”
My arm moved around her shoulders, and I brought her close for a hug. “It’s okay, honey. But if someone makes a promise, they should keep it. If you don’t keep it, other people won’t trust you to keep the promises you make to them.”
“That’s what my Daddy said too.”
“Then let’s learn from this.”
He was up at dinnertime, as if he could smell it through the crack at the bottom of the door. He was in his sweatpants, but this time, he wore a shirt, hiding those ripped muscles under a blanket of cotton. He went for Claire first, enveloping her in his fatherly affection.
I watched him run his fingers through her hair and listen to her go on and on about school, about what Angelica said at recess, the art they were making for class, and all the nuances of her little life. Sometimes it didn’t seem like he even listened to her but got lost in a daze instead, looking at her bright little eyes with a sheen of unconditional love.
I loved it when he looked like that—wore his heart on his sleeve.
When their conversation was finished, he joined me in the kitchen and took a peek at the pans on the stove. All it took was a single glance at the food for him to turn into a chef and add more salt and pepper, along with the other spices on the counter. He even changed the heat setting on the pans.
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the counter.
The corner of his mouth rose in a guilty smile.
“You don’t like my cooking?”
He walked over to me, his big arms swaying slightly with his gait, and pressed right up against me at the counter. His head bent down so our eyes could look into each other. “I love your cooking, baby.” He gave me a soft kiss, PG on the surface but smoldering hot underneath, then stepped away.
He turned around and grabbed the dinner plates from the cabinet.
I admired his muscled back, the sharp cuts between the muscles, the tight skin over masses of power, all visible through the fabric of his shirt whenever he moved.
Once I knew Claire had broken her promise, I’d started to tread water. My stomach tightened in discomfort, and I felt a flush of anxiety in my chest. I was a bit embarrassed, too, because I knew my feelings weren’t reciprocated. But he wasn’t distant or appearing to be uncomfortable. He was exactly the same—as if my feelings were irrelevant.
Any other man wouldn’t have reacted that way. They would have gotten uptight and quiet. Would have pushed me away. Would have looked at me differently. But this man was…not like the others.
Benton wanted to do Claire’s nightly ritual of getting her ready for bed and tucking her in. He was in a noticeably better mood, always wearing a slight smirk on his lips, and he looked at his daughter like she’d just been born.
I knew the source of his happiness.
He didn’t have to go back to the Chasseurs.
He could stay home with us every night forever.
I cleaned up the kitchen and did the dishes before I sat on the couch with a glass of wine.
He emerged from the hallway a moment later, a shine still in his eyes.
“Eh-hem.”
His eyes narrowed as he halted in front of the fireplace.
I made a gesture with my fingers, telling him to take his shirt off.
When he understood, he gave a grin and pulled it over his head.
“Thank you.”
He tossed it on the armchair then kneeled in front of the fireplace to put another log on.
I sipped my wine and enjoyed the view. All the muscles shifted and moved with his actions, a symmetrical collage of mobile strength. He got to his feet once more, then joined me on the couch. The bottle of wine was on the coffee table, so he helped himself to a glass and took a big drink.
