I groan at the new name she’s given me that she uses whenever I use my height and strength to help her. She called me that earlier this morning when she couldn’t open the new jar of jelly for her biscuit, and I nearly dropped it, even after she called me that yesterday a couple of times. It was going to take some getting used to. No one else had ever bothered to call me anything but Doc since I was a teenager, even at the club.
I lean down and kiss her smiling lips, pulling the keys off the hook by the door next to us and placing them in her hand.
“Be careful. Text me when you get there and when you’re on your way home,” I demand, and she rolls her eyes.
“It’s like, five minutes away.”
I just lift a brow and look at her sternly.
She scoffs. “Fine, Dad.”
With that, she turns toward the door, and I reach ahead of her to pull it open, and without thinking about it, I swat her on the ass when she starts through the door.
She stiffens immediately, and all I can do is shut my eyes, leaning to place my forehead on my knuckles where they grip the wood of the door. I want to kick myself, calling myself every fucking name in the book for not thinking about my actions, feeling too comfortable and not considering the scars I discovered yesterday in the shower.
But then I feel her hand, light on my cheek, and she strokes her thumb down my beard until I open and meet her eyes. She looks up at me, her face soft, clearly having seen my regret the moment it happened.
“I’m all right, Viking,” she whispers. “I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”
I nod, the knot in my gut loosening, and I take her kiss when she stands up on her tiptoes to place her lips on mine.
“I’ll text you when I get there.” She smiles.
“And on your way home,” I add.
And instead of arguing, she just nods. “And on my way… home.”
Ten minutes later, after moving some things around upstairs, I’m out in the garage. Astrid never asks me for anything, so a feeling of excitement and urgency fills me to set about the task she’s given me. There are seven big boxes against the wall of my garage, stacked up and marked Astrid’s Porn thanks to Seth, when he helped her pack. They’d done it quickly, my coworker and friend wanting to move Twyla in with him as fast as he could “before she changes her mind.”
Astrid was going to get a storage unit, with plans on finding her own place once Brandon was sentenced, but I told her it was nonsense to spend the money on storage when I had more than enough space for her things here.
I carry in each box, setting them on the floor in my study, and when all seven are inside, I relock the garage door and grab my phone off the kitchen counter on my way back to the study, and I see I have a notification.Astrid: Inside the gym. Johnna talked me into doing another barre class. Something about releasing lactic acid. It’s 45 mins. Your hot tub and Epsom salt will likely be needed when I get home. *grimace emoji
Me: Not at the same time, but I can definitely make that happen. Kick ass, goddess.I turn on my Bluetooth speaker and connect my phone, scrolling through my music until I find what I’m looking for, and soon Breaking Benjamin’s “Breath” fills the room. My study has floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases, wall-to-wall, no window, the only break in shelves being the door. There’s a dark wooden desk that’s much like the one in my office at work, just a smaller version, and there’s an overstuffed brown leather couch and armchair in the center of the room with a table and overhanging lamp between them.
I walk around the room, determining which two bookcases have the least amount to move to make room then decide to give Astrid her own corner, even with the extra work. Soon, I’ve got not two, but four bookcases designated for her books, which will have room to spare for new ones she might want to add. If I have it my way, she’ll never leave, and I’ll build her own damn library for her that she can fill with whatever books she desires. But I’ll keep that little tidbit to myself so I don’t freak her out. We made great strides yesterday and this morning, and she left earlier calling this home, but nothing has been discussed as far as her never moving out.
I pick up one box of books and carry it over to the couch, setting it down and opening the crisscrossed flaps of cardboard. Sure enough, I look down into an entire box of shirtless men in various bottoms from kilts to suit pants, and I shake my head with a chuckle. I pull out a stack and carry them over to the first bookcase, setting them on a random shelf. I do this back and forth until the box is empty, and then I take the time to organize them, seeing a lot have the same authors. She likes series, and one of them I find has nearly twenty books. I make sure they all sit on two shelves of their own, leaving space in case another book is scheduled to come out.