“They look so happy,” I whisper, trying to get myself under control.

“They were happy. I never saw them argue. Mom used to bicker, but Dad thought that shit was cute. He used to laugh about it, which would make her laugh.”

“What happened to them?” I ask, lifting my head to look at him, and his body gets tight under me. Feeling that, I tuck my face against his neck. “Never mind. Forget I asked.” I wrap my arms around his middle, ignoring the disappointment I feel while listening to him pull in a deep breath.

“It was right before Christmas,” he begins, and my muscles bunch. “I was out with friends. My parents never locked the door. A guy walked right into the house while Mom and Dad were upstairs. The guy was in the middle of cleaning out the gifts from under the tree, when my dad confronted him. All Dad had was a baseball bat. Didn’t know the guy was armed. He shot Dad twice in the chest. Mom was hiding, but when she heard the shots, she came out, and since he didn’t want to leave a witness, he killed her too.

“God,” I breathe, closing my eyes as the pain for him wraps around my heart and lungs, making it hard to breathe. “I’m so, so sorry,” I choke out, knowing that isn’t even an adequate word. Him losing his parents was bad enough. Him losing them the way he did, is tragic. “Please tell me they caught the guy.”

“They caught him. He tried to pawn the necklace Dad got Mom for Christmas. I was with him when he bought it, so I knew it was missing and put a description in the report. Cops were able to track and catch him, since he used his ID with the pawn shop.”

“Good,” I whisper, tucking my face into his neck when I realize his history is exactly why he flipped out about my door not being locked the first time he came over to my house. “You were still a kid when you lost them,” I say after a moment, and he pulls my face out of his neck and runs his thumbs under my eyes, swiping away the wetness there.

“I was a kid, but lucky for me, my mom’s sister, Patricia, lived in the same town, so I went to live with her. She wasn’t a replacement for my parents, but we were close, and losing them brought us closer. We’re still tight; she comes to visit often. That’s why I had to get this place. She wasn’t cool with sleeping at the compound.”

“I bet not.” I scrunch up my face, and he smiles then shakes his head.

“She knows about you,” he tells me quietly, and my heart squeezes.

“What?” I whisper.

He slides his fingers across my cheek and up into my hair. “Like I said, we’re close. She knows about you, has known about you for a while now.”

“Will I get to meet her?”

“She’ll be here at Christmas, so yeah.” He nods, and my stomach dips.

“Awesome.”

“Yeah, awesome.” He smiles then leans in, kissing my forehead. “As much as I enjoy having you in my lap, you need to eat and we need to get to bed. I got work tomorrow.”

“Right,” I agree, but I don’t move. I lock my arms around him. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve had years to deal with their loss. Sucks sometimes when something good happens in my life and I don’t get to share it with them, but I’m okay.”

“Promise?” I press, and his face softens.

“Promise, baby.”

“Okay.”

He dips his face close to mine. “You all right?” he asks, and I feel my face match his softness.

“You are, so yeah, I am.” I run my fingers down the column of his throat. “I hurt for you and all you lost, but as long as you’re okay, I’m okay. But if you ever feel like talking to anyone, I’m here.”

“So damn sweet,” he murmurs, then his mouth is on mine, his lips firm and demanding while still being sweet and soft.

Running my hands through his hair, I hold on and kiss him back, trying to pour into that kiss how deeply I feel for him, how much I’ve come to care about him, and how happy I am that he’s mine. When he pulls away and our eyes lock, I swear I see my feelings staring right back at me.

“Come on.” He helps me stand then leads me into the kitchen, handing me a can of Sprite. He picks up a plate with a sandwich and chips, taking it with us back to his bedroom. Dizzy, who has made himself comfortable on the bed, pops his head up to look at us, but quickly lays it back down, closing his eyes.

I get into bed and open my soda then settle my plate on my lap before picking up the remote. “What do you want to watch?” I ask, watching him strip down to his boxers.

“Whatever you want,” he replies, and I look at the TV. Having grown up with brothers, I know that’s a lie. He probably wouldn’t be into one of the dance shows I like, or The Bachelor.

“Here, you choose.” I hand him the remote when he settles on the bed next to me, his back to the headboard and his ankles crossed.

“Baby, I’m really good with whatever you want to watch,” he tells me as I take a bite of my sandwich—ham and cheese with the perfect amount of mayo and mustard.

“You’d be okay with watching The Bachelor?” I raise a brow, and a pained look crosses his face. Laughing, I mutter, “You pick,” popping a chip into my mouth.

He settles on a crime drama. I finish eating, and as soon as I’m done, he takes my plate away and curls me into his side. I rest my head against his chest, my arm over his abs and my thigh over his, and watch TV with him until I eventually fall asleep.

***

Sitting at a small booth at the back of the coffee shop the next morning, my stomach knots when I see my dad walk by the windows at the front. I pick up my coffee and take a sip as he enters, and his eyes come to me. Seeing him close in on the table I’m sitting at, I realize his guard is up and he’s nervous. Realizing that, the knot in my stomach loosens. My dad doesn’t get scared or nervous, so I know he must be feeling guilty, and even though I’m still upset with him, I don’t want that for him.

“I got you your usual,” I say when he takes a seat across from me, and his eyes go from guarded to soft in an instant.

“Did you poison it?”

“No.” I shake my head, then continue, “Only because I didn’t have any arsenic handy.”

“Fair enough.” He picks up the white paper cup and takes a sip then sets it down, keeping his hand wrapped around it. He scans the coffee shop, and then his eyes meet mine. “You know I love you, right?”

God, that question kills me, because I have never, not once in all my life, questioned my father’s love for me. Never.

“I know that,” I reply softly, holding his gaze.

“Know I’d do anything for you? Protect you with my dying breath?”

“I know.” My lungs burn, and I swallow over the sudden lump in my throat.

“When did you grow up?” The question is whispered, and tears I can’t fight start to form in my eyes. “You’re my baby girl. Christ, I look at you now, know you’re a woman, but… you’re still my baby in here,” he says gruffly, placing his hand over his heart.

A lone tear escapes and slides down my cheek. “Dad,” I whisper as he sits forward, wiping the tear from my cheek and studying me.

“Your mom says she’s never seen you as happy as when she saw you with him.” God, I love my mom. I close my eyes, and he grabs my chin, shaking it gently. “Are you happy?”

“Yes.” I open my eyes back up and meet his gaze. “I’m happy.”

“Then I’ll find a way to deal.” He lets go of my chin and sits back.

“That easy?” I ask, and he shrugs his big shoulders.

“Tried to convince him three times to move on, and three times he’s told me what he’s thought of my suggestion. So I’m guessing he’s determined to be around a while.”

“Seriously, Dad?” My eyes narrow and he smiles.

“What? It didn’t work.” He shrugs, now grinning. “If it had worked, he wouldn’t have been worth your time anyway.”

Even though he has a point, I still continue to glare at him. “No more trying to scare him off, Dad. All it does is annoy him and piss him off.”