I never talk about Blakely’s mom, Cassie. It’s painful, and I have so many regrets. “Never married,” I confess.
“And Blakely’s mom?” she asks, but then she’s quickly waving her hand in the air. “I’m sorry, don’t answer that. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“I think you’ve earned that.” I smile, letting her know I’m not the least bit upset with her over her question. “I don’t really talk about it much, even though my brothers and my parents tell me that I should.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“It’s only fair, right?” I ask, my eyes boring into hers.
Before she can answer, my daughter rushes into the room. “Daddy, did you feed the lion?” she asks, smiling up at me.
I chuckle. “I’m working on it.”
“Can we stay longer, please?”
“Blake, it’s getting late. As soon as I finish eating, we need to head home. You need a bath and then it’s story time.”
“Three stories.”
At four, my daughter is a master negotiator when it comes to her bedtime stories.
“One story.”
“Two.” She bats those long eyelashes, and we both know I’m going to cave.
“Fine. Two stories.”
“Yay! Love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, baby girl.” I give her a one-armed hug before she steps out of my hold and skips around the table to hug Kennedy. “Thanks for my braids,” she says, pointing at her head and her two French braids as if Kennedy needs the reminder.
“You’re very welcome, Miss Blakely.”
And just like that, she’s racing back into the living room. “Don’t run in the house,” I call after her.
“I’m skipping,” she calls back, making Kennedy and me both laugh.
“She’s a handful at four. What am I going to do when she’s a teenager?” I shake my head, a smile pulling at my lips. I take another bite of my lasagna and swallow before answering her earlier question. “Her mother passed away. Blakely was just a few weeks old.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I nod, feeling the familiar ball of emotion well in my throat when I think about Cassie. “Thanks. It’s a long-twisted story.”
“Well, if you ever feel like telling it or just talking, you know where to find me. I’ll be here for at least eight weeks. Depending on how Grandma’s leg heals but the doctors said a minimum of eight weeks. So I’ll be around.”
I take another bite before my gaze finds hers. There is something there. Something that speaks to me on a level I’ve never experienced before. I can’t name it, but I feel in my gut that Kennedy is someone I can trust. “I might take you up on that,” I finally say.
Even though I say the words, I don’t think I will. I never talk about Cassie, something I know I should do. Blakely knows her mom lives with the angels and watches over her, but outside of that, we don’t talk about it. She’s too young to understand, and the pain of what I lost, what my little girl lost, and what Cassie lost is still too raw.
I quickly finish off my lasagna and stand. Taking my plate to the sink, I wash it along with my fork and glass, placing them on the rack to dry.
“Wow, a man who cleans up after himself.” I hear from behind me.
I dry my hands on a hand towel and turn to face her. “I’m a single father. There isn’t anything that I don’t do.” My voice is low and huskier than normal.
“Not something I’m used to.”
“Real men get their hands dirty.” I watch her throat as she swallows. “Thank you for dinner.” With that, I head back to the living room to wrangle my daughter. If I stay with Kennedy a minute longer, I might show her exactly what I can do with my hands. This woman is too damn tempting.
By the time we’re home and make it through bath time, I’m barely through the first story before Blakely is sound asleep. Kissing her softly, I make sure her night-light is on and the door is cracked. I’d love nothing more than to fall into bed, but there is a load of laundry in the washer that I need to swap over, and I need to pack my lunch for work tomorrow. I didn’t last night and thought I’d run out to grab something today. That didn’t happen, and hell if I don’t hate those hungry lions in my belly. I chuckle softly, thinking about Blakely. That little girl has turned my entire world upside down, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
CHAPTER
THREE
Kennedy
“You do not have to go with me.” I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath. I love my grandmother, but damn, she can be exhausting and hard-headed. “I can figure out how to unlock the venue, Grandma.”
“That’s my blood, sweat, and tears, and I need to be there,” she counters.