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“You know, like how you were gonna have macaroni for dinner, but there’s no milk, so instead you introvize and have peanut butter jelly sandwiches?”
“Oh! You meanimprovise.”
“Yeah, that. I had to do that on account of Auntie Fitzy already brought me what I wanted most this year.” Fitzy? The only thing I’ve seen Fitzy give anyone this year is heartburn and sass.
“What did Aunt Fitzy bring you?” If my voice sounds as if I just got run over and stomped by a dozen feral reindeer, it’s cuz I feel like I have been.
“A daddy. Auntie Fitzy brought me a daddy, just like I told her I was gonna ask Santa for. She said she knew just the right daddy for me, and that I’d know him when I met him. Then there you were, right when I was sick and needed a daddy most in all my life.”
I’m not crying. Okay, I’m crying, but it’s impossible not to be crying. Sirena’s got tears all down her face, too, and Lavender’s looking back and forth between us as if we’ve lost the plot. If this is parenthood, it’s no wonder they say only the strong survive. Shit, my heart still feels half trampled and half as if it’s about to soar out of my chest into the ozone.
“You are my daddy, right?” Lavender launches herself into my arms and topples me back onto my ass. Soft sniffles beside me get louder as Sirena kneels next to us and brushes back her daughter’s bangs.
“I want to be your daddy more than I’ve ever wanted anything in all my life, Shortstack. You’re the best Christmas gift anyone ever gave me.”
Her little arms wind around my neck as I reach over and pull Sirena into our hug. My perfect little family is complete. Now, I just need to make it legal.
I lift Lavender to her feet and gesture to a pair of small boxes balanced on side-by-side branches in the tree.
“Grab those presents for me, please, kiddo?”
She runs and skids to a stop in front of all the brightly wrapped packages. Tucked against the greenery, amidst all the lights and baubles, the little red velvet boxes blend in, but she spots them immediately.
“Hey, this one has my name on it!”
I hold out my hand, and she places the other box on my palm. I hold it aloft for Sirena to see her name etched into the velvet of hers.
“Open them.”
My girls flip the lids and exclaim with joy. Lavender’s first to lift the locket and chain from the hinged case. Sirena’s slower to pull out the emerald surrounded by pink tourmalines on a simple band.
“Marry me. Be my family forever. Let me love you with every breath for the rest of my life.”
Lavender grins and nods as if there’s no question to it at all. I’ll be the only father she ever knows, and the only one she ever needs. Not a day goes by from this moment on where she’ll ever wonder what it’s like to have a dad, because I’ll always be here for her.
Sirena’s teary eyes search mine, but I don’t worry. I know the only thing she’ll find is my certainty and love. She’s it for me. My start, my middle, my end. She’s everything.
“Marry me,” I say again, needing to hear the words from her, even as she nods. “Say you’re certain. That you’ll marry me. Marry me.”
“Oh, Jonah. Yes, I’ll marry you. I’m sure. I love you!”
Best. Christmas. Ever.
***
WONDERING ABOUT LUMI AND CALLUM?
Here’s a peek at the first chapter of their book, Getting Off His naughty List, available now!
Hard rock pounds through the club’s speakers, placed everywhere to encourage people to stay in motion throughout the night. Dancing people are thirsty people, that’s what the bartenders say. Can’t argue with the logic. The bar rails are packed all night for every shift I’ve ever worked. Doesn’t matter if it’s Friday night or early Tuesday evening. Folks line up three deep, waiting their turn to rehydrate.
Meanwhile, my fellow dancers and I keep bottles of water snapped into discrete holders along the top of our cages. Our job is to keep the crowd hyped up with our dance moves. No, not those types of moves! We’re dancers, not strippers. We’re in metal boxes suspended shoulder-level above the crowd with platforms below us, roped off to keep guests from knocking into the frames and hurting themselves.
There’s no stripping or anything untoward at Loft. That’s not to say our moves aren’t enticing and an eyeful, but there’s nothing happening at my job that I’d be embarrassed for my grandma to know about. Hell, it’s because of an actual grandma I got this gig to begin with.
I spot the floofy white cloud of Fitzy’s hair from here. At eighty-something years old, the woman could probably climb into the cage with me and charm the crowd just as well as the rest of us. I give her a wave, excited when she waves back and points to the much younger gentleman attempting to catch her attention. He’s got to be at least twenty years younger than her, and even so my bet’s on him not being able to keep up with the old gal.
I scan the dance floor, keeping tabs on the crowd below. It may seem as if our job is to titillate and entertain, but the honest truth is, we’re the eyes and ears for club security. The reason Loft is considered the safest dance club for young people in Bourbon is because the cage girls are spotters for any trouble that may be brewing.
