Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Daddy, where is your suitcase?”
“In the guest house,” I tell her. “Why don’t you hang out with Mommy for a few more minutes, and I’ll go get it?”
“Hurry, Daddy!”
“I will,” I promise.
With a brisk pace, I head for the tiny house where I’ve had so much fun this week. Fun⏤that’s how I’ll have to file this away. When I duck inside the front door, I hear the sound of a zipper in Asher’s room, followed by the sound of a suitcase handle retracting.
Thank fuck. I’ve caught him.
“Hey, Asher? I, uh, came to say goodbye.” I haven’t stumbled on words in days.
A moment later, his face appears in the doorway. He drags his suitcase into the living room with him. “Hell, Banks. I don’t even know what to say. It’s been . . .” He shakes his head, then smiles at me. “It’s been—” He stops. He peers behind me.
“Daddy?”
I whirl around to find Rosie standing in the doorway.
“Are you ready? Is it time for Disney World?”
“In a second,” I say, waiting for her to turn around and leave again.
But no. Rosie enters the house and crosses her arms over her chest. And waits.
Asher lets out an awkward chuckle. “Hey, cutie. Are you going to meet Mickey Mouse?”
“No, Ariel.” She shakes her head. “Mickey is for old people.”
“Ouch,” he says with a genuine laugh.
Ouch is right. My adorable six-year-old is cock-blocking my goodbye kiss. I shouldn’t even be surprised.
This is my real life—Rosie and Disney and heading home afterwards. This was always the plan. Good thing I didn’t get the words out earlier. What was I even thinking?
“So . . .” I clear my throat. “I guess this is it.”
Asher lifts his regal chin and watches me for a beat. “I guess it is.” He takes a step toward me, like he isn’t sure how to proceed either.
We’re obviously not going to make out in front of my kid. But even if Rosie weren’t standing here, I still don’t know what I’d do or say. There’s no instruction book for this. No spreadsheet macro to tell me what comes next.
“Have . . . a great time in Paris,” I manage.
“I’ll try.” He takes a step closer, frowning, like he’s not sure if he should hug me or what.
And I’m no help. I’m just standing here, half stunned at everything that went on between us.
Then Asher thrusts out a hand.
So that’s how this ends—with a goddamn handshake. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. But I grasp his strong hand in mine and squeeze it.
The warmth of his hold only makes me want more. But even that brief touch is over almost immediately. He steps back and sighs. “I’m off, Banks. I’m taking an earlier flight. I have to pack up my life in the next four days.”
“Wow, okay.” I can’t even imagine. “We’ll walk you to the car then.”
“All right.” He gives me a jerky nod.
Barely two minutes later he’s seated in the Porsche. The top is up, though. Our convertible days are truly over. He starts the engine and turns to me one last time through the open window. “You take care of yourself, Banks. I’ll probably see you around. Maybe when the baby is born.”
“Sure,” I say stiffly. I can picture it all too clearly—Asher swooping in from Paris to meet his godson or goddaughter. The two of us nodding awkwardly at each other from either end of Flip and Hannah’s living room.
Before he returns to his Paris lover. Or lovers.
Hell. That’s my new definition of hell.
“Goodbye, Banks.” He locks his gaze to mine. “I won’t ever forget this week. Just saying.”
My stomach does its new fluttering thing again. “Fuck it,” I say under my breath. I lean down to peck his golden-hued cheekbone.
He turns his head again, though, finding my mouth with his. And my peck becomes a kiss. A quick one, but a kiss, nonetheless. Soft lips on mine, one more time.
Then it’s over, and I’m standing upright again, feeling like someone just stepped on my chest with a steel-toed boot.
I back away, holding Rosie’s hand so she isn’t anywhere near the red car as he carefully reverses out of the spot before changing direction again and driving slowly off the property.
And then completely out of sight.
I’m probably not a super-fun dad as I hurriedly pack up my own stuff while Rosie paces. She’s on a roll about Ariel and Snow White, and I try to nod at all the right moments.
Thirty minutes later, I’m strapping Rosie into the booster seat in the back of the Subaru that Bridget rented. She’s handing off the car as well as the kid, and she’ll take a Lyft to the airport tomorrow.
“Daddy?”
“Hmm?” I check the straps to see if they have the right tension. That’s what dads do.
“You kissed that man goodbye.”