Chapter 30 Dominic


    I’ve never cooked as a team before, but it turns out to be surprisingly effortless. I babysit the two


    saucepans of rice while Presley microwaves the vegetables and preps the other ingredients so I can


    add them at the right times. We’re a well-oiled machine, humming along at peak efficiency, moving


    around the kitchen without even bumping into each other.


    In less than half an hour, we’re finished. Still working in perfect tandem, we put the full tes on the


    table, help the girls into their booster seats, and clean up drips and messy faces between taking bites


    of our own dinners.


    When dessert has disappeared and I start to see droopy eyelids, I say, “Uh-oh, somebody looks


    sleepy.”


    “Am not,” Lacey tries to insist before an enormous yawn cuts her off.


    Emilia gives us her most potent puppy-dog look. “One more TV? Pleeease?”


    I get up to clear the dishes. “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”


    “Yes, you do,” both girls chorus.


    “Oh no, they’ve be too smart. We’re doomed.” I throw up my hands with a mock look of terror.


    Presley giggles. “What’s their usual bedtime routine? I was too wiped out to keep track of what you


    were doing while I was sick.”


    I tick off items on my fingers. “Bath, change into jammies, braid their hair, tuck them in, read them a


    story.”


    “I haven’t braided anyone’s hair since middle school,” Presley says with a small smile.


    “Okay, girls, you know the drill.” I p my hands. “Let’s get cleaned up.”


    Property belongs to N?vel(D)r/ama.Org.


    We corral them toward the bathroom with only a minimal amount of grumbling. Presley fetches


    washcloths and fills the tub with warm water while I undress the girls, and we share the task of


    brushing out their hair. Naturally, as soon as they get their hands on the bath toys, allints


    cease. Lacey is so intent on her windup swimming penguin that she barely notices anything I’m doing,


    even wiping her face. Presley washes Emilia while she scribbles all over the tub’s walls with bath


    crayons.


    In no time at all, we’re at thest phase. “Close face,” I say.


    The two of them giggle and scrunch their faces as tight as possible. I quickly shampoo and rinse


    Lacey’s hair. After a moment of confusion, Presley does the same with Emilia.


    I check the clock. Divide and conquer, indeed. With the two of us working together, a task that normally


    takes half an hour is done in under ten minutes.


    In their bedroom, we wrestle them into pajamas, careful to get their favorite colors right—green for


    Emilia, pink for Lacey. Presley sits on the bed with Emilia between her knees, but when I sit behind


    Lacey, she frowns.


    “I want Presley braids!”


    “Hey, you’re hurting Daddy’s feelings,” Presley chides gently.


    “Sorry,” Lacey mutters, not very convincingly.


    I chuckle. “Nah, it’s okay. I do both girls’ hair nearly every night. I can go clean up the bathroom


    instead.”


    When I return from mopping up spilled water, setting out the toys to dry, and wiping crayon off


    porcin, the sight of Presley stops me in my tracks. She’s working on thest few inches of Lacey’s


    braid with nimble fingers and a tender smile, humming under her breath. The scene is so cozy and


    serene. She looks . . . like home.


    My chest aches, and my feet are stuck in their spot on the carpeting.


    Presley nces up and smiles at me. “I’m almost done.”


    “Take your time,” I manage to say, my voice tight with some unnamed emotion.


    Maybe I’m only remembering what it felt like to have my own mother fuss over me—after the sun had


    gone down and I’d been scrubbed clean, lying on freshlyundered sheets while shebed her


    fingers through my hair and sang under her breath.


    God, it was a lifetime ago. I’m a bit mncholy right now, thinking that the memories I have of being


    cared for by a mom won’t be memories that my own daughters will ever have, and that makes me


    incredibly sad.


    I squat in front of the girls’ bookshelf, pondering, and take a deep breath. “What kind of story do you


    guys want tonight?”


    “Make one up,” Emilia says.


    “With space aliens,” Lacey adds.


    “And princesses and magic.”


    “And ducks!”


    “Hmm . . .” I rub my chin. “That’s a lot of stuff. I’ll need some time to figure out how to put them


    together.” Ie back to sit on the bed beside Presley and think.


    In a couple of minutes, she’s finished their braids. Once we tuck the girls in, I begin.


    “Once upon a time, Princess Honey had a pet duck named Sparkle . . . uh, Bob. One day, Sparkle Bob


    said—”


    “No, together!” Lacey says, interrupting.


    It takes a moment to figure out what she means. Then I’m wondering how we’re supposed to share a


    story and also make it up. I nce at Presley, smirking.


    Her brow is furrowed. After a few moments, Presley says, “Sparkle Bob said, ‘Let’s go to outer space.


    I’ve always wanted to see the stars up close.’ Honey agreed this was a great idea, so she traded her


    crown with a witch for a flying spell.”


    “Ducks fly,” Emilia points out.


    “But then Honey would be left behind, and he’d be lonely. And he’d get too tired if he tried to fly that far


    without magic.”


    I pick up the thread of the story before anyone can poke more holes in it. “They flew out into space, all


    the way to Neptune, and met the aliens that lived there. The aliens said, ‘Great timing, we were just


    nning a party. But we—’”


    “What kind?” Lacey asks.


    Presley rescues me. “Jellyfish. They’re giant purple jellyfish that float through the clouds like it’s the


    ocean.” She puts on a silly, squeaky falsetto. “And they talk like this.”


    Doing my best to imitate her pretend voice, I continue. “‘But we don’t have any good party snacks. Can


    you get us some cupcakes?’ Honey and Sparkle Bob agreed to help. They flew back to Earth to make


    a thousand cupcakes, then returned to Neptune.”


    “They invited the witch too, since they couldn’t have done it without her,” Presley adds.


    “Right, of course. And they all had the best party ever. Many cupcakes were eaten. The end.”


    Lacey and Emilia’s eyes have drifted closed and they’re wearing contented smiles. When we’re sure


    they’re asleep, Presley and I tiptoe out into the hall, turning off the bedroom light behind us and silently


    shutting the door.


    “You’re amazing,” I tell her in a hushed tone, our faces close.


    “So are you. But, um . . . what is ‘close face’?”


    “Huh? Oh, that.” I chuckle. “A while ago, I identally said ‘close face’ instead of ‘close eyes,’ and they


    thought it was hysterical. So I’ve been saying it at bath time ever since.”


    She stifles a giggle. “Aw, that’s so cute.”


    I grin at her. “Seriously, though, you’re a natural with the girls. They’re crazy about you.”


    Presley turns her head slightly as if to hide the soft look in her eyes. “I’m d—they’re so much fun.”


    Then, almost shyly, she steps closer to me. “We make a good team.”


    How true that is. It feels so natural to take care of the household together. And watching her with the


    girls . . . it’s like there’s been a Presley-shaped hole in our family all along, and I just never knew until


    she stepped into it. Francine is great, but maybe the girls have been needing a woman in their life


    who’s more like a mother than a nanny.


    And right now, I can’t deny that I’m in need too.


    “Come here,” I murmur, my voice husky.


    Taking her face in my hands, I lean in for a thorough, smoldering kiss, rubbing my thumbs over her


    beautiful high cheekbones. With a moaning sigh, she presses close, wrapping her arms around my


    lower back. I indulge in our kiss for another minute before leading her down the hall to my room.


    We draw together, all mouths and hands and desire, our clothes scattering over the floor. I sit back


    against the headboard, pulling her atop me to straddle myp. This is only the third time I’ve had


    Presley in my bed. Once right before she hurt me, once after . . . but tonight is different. And any pain


    or doubt I felt before is gone.


    “Are you okay with this?” I ask, wrapping her in my arms. I recall Presley’s drunk deration that she


    couldn’t have sex with me because it only confused things between us. At the time, I kind of agreed,


    but now, I feel anything but confused.


    “I want this,” she says, circling her hips as she teases me.


    I grab a condom and roll it on as our mouths stay fused together in a hot kiss.


    As soon as I’m ready, she sinks down onto me and we moan together. The feel of skin against hot,


    sensitive skin is overwhelming, and I hold her close while she finds her rhythm.


    She rides me, slow yet so intense. I kiss her mouth and breasts, suck her nipples, nip her delicate


    earlobes, earning a beautiful gasp with each touch. I bury my face in the curve of her neck to leave


    gentle bites and feel her pulse racing under my lips and tongue. Presley’s warmth and softness and


    sweet scent envelop me until nothing else exists. Until she’s my whole world.


    Deep within me, I know we’re not fucking, but making love. I know we’ve gone far beyond anything I


    ever expected to exist between us. I know it means I’m weak. And foolish andpletely out of line.


    I just can’t bring myself to care.