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Emmy climbed up onto the bed and scrambled to get under the covers quickly. Once she got herself situated, Daisy and I both took a seat at the foot of the bed. I let Daisy take over, flattening the sheets and smoothing out the pillows.
“Miss Wright,” Emmy said reluctantly, “When am I going to see Mommy again?”
“I don’t know,” Daisy said gently, and I could tell she was conflicted about the answer. Torn between telling the awful truth, or telling a lie.
“But you don’t need to worry about that,” I added quickly, and Emmy’s eyes shifted to me. Even in the dim bedroom light, I could see the start of tears puddling under her eyes, and I wished there was something I could do. Something I could say to comfort her.
“Everything is going to be ok,” I said. “I promise.”
I felt Daisy’s eyes staring up at me, and I had a pretty good idea why. She was probably going to tell me that it was not a good idea to make promises that I couldn’t keep. But I didn’t need anyone to tell me that. That was a lesson I already learned the hard way. I would never make a promise I did not intend on keeping. And when I promised Emmy that everything was going to be ok, I meant it.
We said our goodnights, then Daisy flicked off the bedroom light and gently closed the door. We padded softly down the hallway, back to the living room.
Daisy collapsed onto the couch and stifled a yawn, then glanced down at her cell phone on the coffee table as she shook the braid loose from her hair, letting the golden curls spill freely over her shoulder.
“Still no word from CPS?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she shook her head.
“Looks like we’ll be having a sleepover,” I teased.
“Nice try,” she said coolly, her eyes flashing up at me.
“What’s the supposed to mean?” I frowned. I walked across the room to the wet bar and I pulled open the glass door to the wine fridge, flooding the floor with blue light. I bent down, selecting a fresh bottle of Pinot Grigio, and then I grabbed two glasses and a corkscrew and walked back towards the couch.
“Come on,” Daisy said, keeping her eyes tilted up at me, “I’m not an idiot. You’ve been flirting with me all night.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, plopping onto the couch beside her. I started working at the foil wrapper on the wine bottle’s neck as she watched from her spot on the couch.
“Really?” she eyed me doubtfully. “Pressing up against me when we walked in the door? Brushing your knee against mine during the movie? All those little glances and smiles?”
She was
n’t wrong. Instead of making excuses, I offered a coy smile.
“And now this?” she gestured to the wine bottle in my hands.
“I figured we could enjoy a glass of wine while we wait for that phone call,” I shrugged innocently. “They don’t seem to be in any hurry.”
“Mr. Preston,” she snapped, “This little routine might work on other girls, but if you think you can charm your way into my pants with your flashy apartment and expensive wine…”
“Are you saying I’m not charming?” I glanced up at her, and her eyes flashed.
I stabbed the screw into the cork and started twisting, as I saw the resolve on her face soften.
“I’m saying that your charms won’t work on me,” she said firmly.
“Really?” I asked. I pried the cork out of the bottle and it made a gentle pop. Then I reached for one of the glasses and carefully poured the wine, watching it splash as it filled the glass.
I offered the glass to her, but when she reached for it, I pulled it away.
“Let’s not pretend that we don’t already know what I do to you,” I whispered, holding the glass out of her reach as she leaned towards me.
“What are you talking about?” she gulped, her eyes finding mine.
“I felt the way your body reacted to mine,” I said softly. “I felt the way I made your heart race and your blood rush…”
“You surprised me,” she insisted, but the slight tremor in her voice told me that even she doesn’t believe what she was saying. “That’s all.”
