Late into the night, my home remained so full of joy, light, and warmth, eating and drinking and laughter. Now the guests have gone, the halls are dark, my girls sleeping peacefully down the hall. Presley and I are curled up together in my bed . . . and this feels like family too.
“Are we going to talk about your surprise today? What made you think of it?” Presley asks, her head pillowed on my chest.
I run my fingers through her elegant spill of dark hair. Her relationship with her father is something that has been on my mind for a long time, actually. Maybe it’s because I’m a dad now as well and could never imagine not having a relationship with my daughters. But it was more than that too.
“Well, I never got a chance to reconcile with my father . . . or protect my brother . . . but I figured I could still help you with yours.”
She props herself on her elbow to stroke my stubbled cheek, sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Dominic.”
I still don’t know how to handle it when she looks at me like that, when I can see the full, overwhelming depth of what she feels for me. “You don’t have to be sorry. It’s in the past.”
“The past can still hurt,” she says softly.
“It can. But I have a present to take care of . . . and a future to look forward to.”
We lie together for a while, just enjoying each other’s warm solidarity. Then, in a much lighter tone, she asks, “So, what on earth did you say to convince my dad?”
“A magician never reveals his secrets,” I say, not because I actually don’t want to tell her, but because I want to make her laugh.
She does and nudges me in the ribs playfully. “Oh, come on, I’m dying to know. Dad almost never apologizes.”
“Well, I said a lot of things—some of which I can’t repeat in front of the girls—but I think what did the trick was finding some common ground. I told him I’m a single father too, and I understand how hard it can be when your children’s mother isn’t there, and how easy it is for your life to get out of hand. But if he lets these family relationships go, he’ll regret it until the day he dies.”
Blinking fast, she sniffles wetly.
“Are you oka—”
Her fervent kiss cuts me off. “I love you so much,” she says hoarsely, squeezing me tight.
My heart soars to the heavens, as it always does every time I hear those words. “I love you too,” I murmur against her lips.
To think, barely any time ago I never would have let myself think that, let alone say it out loud. But now I can. Every hour of every day until forever ends.
She kisses me again, hungry and joyful, and I answer with everything I have. Our touches quickly turn from sweet to hot, and soon I’m helping Presley push her pajama bottoms off.
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