Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
She shakes her head. “When I realized that I wasn’t one of the victims, I had to get out of there.”
I nod slowly.
“Daddy! We’re back!” Reagan flies through the garage door.
“I’m greasy, Button. Easy. How was the movie?”
“Reagan!” My mom reaches the garage door, breathless. “Oh, thank god.”
With narrowed eyes, I inspect my mom and her visible relief.
She presses her hand to her chest. “I was worried you two were … well … I just wanted to make sure everyone was decent.”
I press my lips together and nod once, taking Reagan’s shoulders and pointing her toward my mom.
Josie hops off the workbench and manages to force a smile for my mom and Reagan.
“Let’s head into the house,” I say as Reagan skips toward the door and my mom nods in relief.
“I’m going to head home,” Josie says behind me.
“Come inside, just for a little bit.” I take her hand, and she doesn’t argue. “I’m going to grab a quick shower. Mom made brownies earlier. Go eat one, and wait for me.”
Mom and Reagan head straight to the kitchen, probably for brownies.
“I’ll be upstairs if you need me. I’ll hurry.” I drop a quick kiss on her lips. “Will you be okay?”
Josie blinks a few times as if she’s deep in thought before nodding once.
I take the fastest shower I have ever taken. No shaving. I’m not sure I got off all the grease. If Josie has another moment, I don’t want it to be when she’s alone with my mom and Reagan. When I get to the kitchen, Mom’s putting the lid on the brownie pan, Reagan’s at the kitchen table coloring, and Josie’s standing behind her, braiding her hair.
It’s normal. I think. I’ve never seen Josie braid hair, but clearly she can. It seems a little motherly of her, but she’s not the motherly type. Maybe Reagan asked her to, but I kind of doubt it. When my gaze shifts from Josie’s hands in my daughter’s hair to Josie’s face, she’s eyeing me with more focus than she’s had in the past hour.
I smile. It feels real, but maybe I’m missing the mark. She frowns and slowly undoes the braid before clearing her throat. “Thanks for the brownie. I need to get home.”
“Well, give me a hug in case I don’t see you again before my flight.” Mom hugs Josie, and Josie lightly rests her hands on my mom’s arms. Even her hug is off.
“Bye, Reagan.” Josie’s hand starts to move toward Reagan’s head like she’s going to rest it there while saying goodbye, but she stops inches from the crown of her head and balls her hand into a fist, returning it to her side.
“Colten, I’m … unwell. You have to protect yourself … protect your daughter.”
Reagan mumbles a soft goodbye.
I follow Josie to the front door. “Stay,” I whisper just as she reaches for the handle.
She turns. “You looked mortified when you saw me braiding her hair.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t know you could braid hair. That’s all.”
With a headshake, she frowns. “That wasn’t a look of wonder or surprise. That was the look of a protective father.”
Again, my head eases side to side. “You’re wrong.”
“I have to work in the morning. I don’t have anything here.”
“Stay anyway.”
She attempts a smile. “We have the rest of our lives, right?”
“I’m more of a seize the moment kind of guy.”
Opening the door, she chuckles. “No. You’re not. Seventeen years ago, you could have seized the moment, but you didn’t. And since then, you’ve had roughly one hundred forty-eight thousand, nine hundred and twenty hours to seize the moment. To find me. You didn’t. And Reagan is one of the reasons. That’s okay. You are now and always will be a father first.” The corner of her mouth curls a little. “When I went hunting with my dad, he once told me that he didn’t know what kind of man he was until he became a father. You’re a good father, Colten, and a good man.”
I let her get two steps out the door before I follow her to her car. “Wait until you see what kind of husband I’m going to be.”
At the driver’s door, she turns, hands sliding up my chest and around my neck. She’s right; Reagan is my world. I can’t change that nor would I ever want to. But Josephine Watts owns some serious real estate behind my ribcage.
“Everything has fine print,” she says, staring at my chest while her fingers play along the nape of my neck. “Reagan is your fine print. If we don’t make it to the altar, she’s the fine print. I know it. You know it. Don’t pretend we don’t.”
“That little firecracker in there? I’m still trying to figure her out. It’s only been five years. But you … I know you. The best parts. And I laid claim to them many years ago. I don’t need fine print.”