Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“So,” Dan says. “When are you gonna get Margot a ring? It’d be a shame if she goes back to Portland first.”
What?
It’s no secret the kids adore her, but the question beans me on the head like a rock.
“You really like having her here, huh?” I play it cool.
“Well, yeah!” He blinks at me like I’m the biggest bonehead he’s ever met. “I like Margot. Sophie loves her, they’re closer than she ever was with Mom.”
Fucking ouch.
I wish I could deny it.
“Bud, listen.” I sigh. “We’re working through some serious stuff. It’s mandatory after the trouble we had in Maine. Might take us some time, but once I’ve figured it out, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Cool,” he says. “I can help you figure out how to ask her, you know. When the time comes.”
Without another word, I reach down and ruffle his hair.
Between us boys, I’ll be fine.
Still, I can’t say I mind the moral support from my little wingman.
Just then Margot sails in, a sunny smile on her face as she leads Sophie into the den.
My daughter’s wearing the most extravagant soft bubblegum pink shoes I’ve ever seen.
The shape’s barely thinner than her basic black shoes. I’ve seen the specs a dozen times while Sophie talked my ear off, counting down the days until they arrived.
Only, the shade Margot picked with soft white stripes running along the front and the colorful flowers splashed on the sides create an optical illusion. It makes them look smaller and prettier, and the color draws the eye away from their bulky size.
Damn, I’m impressed.
These aren’t shoes meant for blending in.
They’re a pastel pink spotlight, and Sophie spins in them, beaming with pride.
“I see the Candy Cloud shoes are here. How do they feel?” I ask.
“Dad, they fit perfect!” she chirps, giving us another twirl.
“Those are so pink and girly.” Dan laughs. “But for you, it works, I guess.”
High praise from her punk brother.
“I’m in love. I think I wanna marry these shoes,” Sophie says.
Margot bites her lip as she glances at me, her eyes dancing.
“I think they turned out fabulous,” she says. “What do you think, Dad?”
“Yeah, Dad.” Sophie bounds up to me, a little ball of pixie sugar I haven’t seen for some time. “Tell me what you think!”
“Hmm, let’s see… They seem safe. They help you walk without falling over. Everything good shoes should do.” I rub my chin, drawing it out.
“Daaaad!” She claps her hands to her cheeks and pulls her face down.
“Okay, munchkin. I think they put Dorothy’s ruby slippers to shame. If you walk in wearing those, everyone will think you’re pure wizard. They’re you, Soph. Right down to the little flowers.”
Her face scrunches with a smile before she nods solemnly. “They really are, aren’t they?”
“Hell yeah.” I lift her up in a hug until she squeals before I set her down again.
Then I catch Margot’s eyes over the top of Sophie’s head.
Genius, I love you, I mouth.
Hiding a laugh, she mouths I love you right back.
Dan might’ve had a point earlier.
I don’t want to rush into anything crazy, but what else will ever match this sweet insanity with Margot Blackthorn?
What else ever could?
I can’t wait forever.
Her grandfather went to his grave watching his hourglass run out. I’d be painfully foolish to make the same mistake.
Not in this life.
Not with this woman.
Definitely not when she’s as perfect with my kids as she is with me.
25
DADDY’S HOME (MARGOT)
Weeks Later
If I keep holding my breath, I’m going to pass out.
Here, right now, in my parents’ extravagant living room, before we accomplish anything.
Right in front of Hattie and Ethan, who flew down to be with us today. Right in front of Ares, too, Gramps’ adorably ancient basset hound who now lives with the happy couple. He sprawls at our feet, somewhere between napping and giving us the saddest puppy dog eyes.
They’re on one side and Kane sits on my other side, holding my hand. Not caring that I’m gripping his palm so hard it would be bone-crushing with a man who doesn’t have tiger paws for hands.
God.
Waiting, that’s the hardest part.
At least Hattie looks happy today. Her hair’s pulled up in a messy bun and she has the widest grin on her face. Probably because they’ve been spending plenty of time hitting the New York bookstores to find more inspiration for her shop.
She’s an easy girl and she loves to rattle off her bookish finds.
All it takes is books and a doting husband.
“I honestly didn’t see it taking off as well as it did,” Hattie says, her shoulder leaning against Ethan’s in silent support. His hand rests on her thigh.
I try not to smile.
I’ve never seen my big brother act the way he does with her.
She’s softened the first-class asshat, turning him back into the boy I remembered, before he became a teenage dickhead sideswiped by tragedy.