Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Okay,” I agreed.
“And we can stay?”
“Yep,” York answered. “And I will make sure to get all your toys and clothes from your old room.”
“And my toothbrush. Mommy left it charging.”
“I will empty every drawer,” York promised her as I fished for the two sets of keys.
With that, York was on his way, and I toured back through the house, opening all the closets. I found that he’d stocked towels, washcloths, first aid kits, medicine—both adult and children’s—cleaning supplies, and a vacuum.
Then, when I made it to the kitchen, I found pots, pans, cutlery, dishes, and pantry supplies.
With a tightening in my stomach, I pulled open the fridge, then the freezer.
Both were stocked.
I’d never seen so much food in my life.
Better yet, he made sure that he had every one of Denali’s favorite foods. And, I realized, they must have discussed mine, too, because he’d stocked the black raspberry ice cream I loved.
“Mama?” Denali called, making me jump.
“Yeah?”
“What are you looking at?”
“Come see,” I said, ushering her over.
I wasn’t sure she remembered a time we had a full-sized fridge, and I doubt she ever saw one completely full.
“Did York do that too?” she asked.
“He did.”
“Can I have one?” she asked, pointing at one of the ice cream cones she loved.
“Sure,” I agreed, taking one out and unwrapping it.
“He’s nice, isn’t he, Mama?” she asked.
“He is. Come here.” I reached for her and lifted her up onto the counter. “Actually, I want to tell you something about York.”
“What?” she asked, biting into the chocolate-coated vanilla ice cream.
“Well, here’s the thing, munchkin. He’s not just my friend.” Her eyes were big, round, and the same color as his. Somehow, that made it easier to say the words. “He’s actually your Daddy.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
York
I dropped all the bags in Denali’s room, where she was sitting quietly on her bed, watching me with an odd look.
“You okay?” I asked when she didn’t rush over to grab all her toys and start organizing them.
“Mommy said you’re my daddy,” she said.
You could have knocked me over with a fucking feather.
When I’d come in, Runa had been straining pasta in the sink. “Hey, I need to talk to you.”
“Sure. Just let me put these bags down,” I said, wondering if she was going to tell me about what they were running from.
But I guess that wasn’t it.
She’d told Denali about who I really was.
“Yeah,” I said, walking over to her and crouching down. “How do you feel about that?”
She shrugged.
“I feel happy about it,” I told her. “I know we don’t know each other very well yet, but I’ve liked getting to spend time with you so far.”
“The zoo and games were fun.”
“Yeah. And we can keep doing fun stuff.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. Now that you and your mom are here, I’d like to keep hanging out with you guys.”
She contemplated that for a moment.
“And you won’t hurt Mommy?”
Fuck.
That was the second time she asked about that.
What the fuck had happened to Runa?
“Listen, Denali, I would never, ever hurt your mom. Or you. I promise.”
“You pinky-promise?” she asked, sticking out a pudgy hand, her little finger out.
“Yeah, I pinky promise,” I said, wrapping my little finger around hers and shaking.
She was quiet for another second. “You got Mommy’s ice cream.”
“I remember you saying what kind she liked. I got you all your favorites, so I thought I should get her something special too.”
“She said she’s gonna have some after dinner. She’s making sketti.”
“I saw that.”
“Do you like sketti?”
“I do.”
“Can you stay for dinner?”
“Well, I think I have to ask your mom if I can do that.”
“Ask me if you can do what?” Runa asked, making both of us look over.
“Can York…” Denali paused, nodded once like she was making up her mind, then started again, “Can Daddy stay for dinner?”
Fuck.
My hand went to my chest, as that sharp feeling intensified.
Runa gave me a soft smile that said she understood what I was feeling. Maybe she’d felt the same way the first time she heard a small Denali call her ‘Mama.’
“Of course he can stay for dinner, if he doesn’t have other plans.”
“Nope.”
“He likes sketti.”
“Perfect then. Why don’t you go wash your hands?” she suggested, leaving the two of us alone. “I wanted to warn you that we’d had that talk.”
“I think she needed to process it with me,” I told her, getting up and walking toward her. “So, spaghetti?”
“With a side of salad. Which you have to eat even if you don’t like it. I don’t want her thinking veggies are an option.”
“I like salad,” I said with a shrug.
“All clean!” Denali declared behind her mom, making both of us turn and follow her into the dining room.
“So, is this another ranch situation?” I asked as Denali pulled her salad bowl close as Runa went back to the kitchen.
“No. She’s full of surprises with salad.” Runa went to the cooler I’d packed from their mini fridge at the motel. “French or creamy Italian?” she asked, holding up both bottles.