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Michael’s arm is over the back of Danielle’s chair, not really touching her, per her mother’s rules, but his index finger drags back and forth over the back of her neck now that Mary isn’t looking.
I lean in. "Where's your dad?"
Danielle looks up and glances around the kitchen.
"He's probably out in the garage. It's kind of his man cave.”
I nod and start to get up.
"Where are you going?" She looks worried.
"I'm just going to go talk to him for a minute."
She grabs the sleeve of my shirt. "You don't have to. He’ll be fine."
I look at her with one eyebrow up. "I am going to talk to him, Danielle.” I wasn’t asking her permission. “Trust me."
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she studies my face, clearly trying to figure out if this is a good idea. I reach up and tug her lip free with my thumb. I haven't touched her all night. We've all been good about that. But it's difficult. At home, we touch freely. I didn't even realize how much until I had to keep my hands to myself.
It's not even sexual energy. I just want to caress her cheek or pull her against my chest for a hug.
I was never a touchy-feely guy before I met Danielle. I was definitely not a hugger.
Now I need a hug as much as she does.
"It will be fine," I tell her. I meet Michael's eyes. He gives me a little nod, which I interpret to mean that he’ll make sure our girl is fine in here.
I start to straighten again and turn toward the garage door.
Now she catches my back belt loop. "Nathan—"
I turn back. Her mother's back is still to us, so I lean in, grasp Danielle’s chin between my finger and thumb, and say low but firmly, "I'm respecting your mother's rules right now, but the no touching won't last. Do you really want the first touch from me to be a smack to your ass?"
She sucks in a little breath, and her pupils dilate.
And I know that my dirty girl is thinking that, yes, actually, she would very much like that first touch to be a smack to her pretty little ass.
I smirk, squeeze her chin, then let her go. "I'll be back."
She doesn't try to stop me again.
I go to the garage door and open it slowly. "Mr. Larkin?"
The overhead lights are all on. The far side of the garage has a pickup parked in it, but the half closest to me has a piece of brown carpet lying on the cement floor along with a recliner, a loveseat, a mini-fridge, and a TV sitting on top of an old dresser. He's in the recliner, clicking through channels, so I feel better that I’m not interrupting him by coming out here to talk to him.
He looks over. "Nathan."
I step down onto the first step and close the door behind me. "May I join you?"
Kevin aims the remote at the TV and turns it off. "I have a feeling you're only asking to be polite. I think you plan on staying no matter what I say."
I incline my head in agreement. I tuck my hands into my dress slacks. We all lost our jackets an hour ago. My shirtsleeves are rolled up, but while Crew’s tie is God knows where, mine is still around my neck, though loose. I’m used to being dressed up like this all day long.
I’m also used to having difficult conversations and facing people who don’t like me and with whom I’m at odds. But at this moment, I’m uncomfortable. This is Kevin’s turf. And he is not an opponent. He is the father of the woman I love. And dammit, if we’re not going to be friends or even get along, we need to at least have an understanding.
"I just wanted the chance to tell you a few things," I say.
Kevin sighs, then gestures toward the loveseat. "I'm sure your office is nicer than this.”
