Page 8 of Becoming His Perfect Daddy

I huffed out a laugh. “Of course, dear.”

“Good to know.” His eyes sparkled again, and I basked in how full of life he was. I liked to think we balanced each other out—my down-to-earth, practical disposition and his playful, life-of-the-party energy. “Okay, that was one. You said you had three things.”

After a deep breath, I blurted out, “I haven’t written in months.”

Tristan gasped. “Seriously?”

I nodded, my eyes falling closed. “Seriously. Nothing. Less than nothing. Not a single word. I can’t do it, Tris. I’m afraid I’m going to have to postpone my next book. I’m already on a tight deadline as it is, and unless I get an idea, like, tomorrow, I’m going to have to officially push back the release.”

“Oh, Camster, I’m so sorry.”

I nodded. “I know, and I appreciate it. It’s making me super anxious. I’m just worried I’ll never write again.”

“You will, dude, I promise. This is just a dry spell. This doesn’t mean you won’t ever write again—you just need a break. And if you have to postpone your next book, your readers will understand. But even if they don’t, you have to put yourself first. You know more than anyone you can’t force a book out. You’ve told me that a million times.”

I smiled, just a little. I had. “I know.”

“See? You’ll be fine. Let me know if and when you decide to announce it—I’ll support you however I can.”

God, I was so lucky this man had glommed onto me and declared himself my BFF. I’d always be grateful. “Thanks, Tris. You’re amazing.”

“I know.” He grinned. “And number three?”

I sighed, my mood instantly tanking. “I got an email.”

His eyes widened comically. “Oh, fuck.”

I snorted again. “Shut the fuck up, dude. It wasn’t just any email, obviously.”

He threw his head of dark-brown curls back and laughed. “Obviously. Send it to me.”

I clicked around and forwarded the email quickly. Tris’s eyes scanned his computer screen for a moment before they widened. He turned back to me. “Damn, I see what you mean.”

“So what do I do?”

His head cocked to one side. “Um, reply?”

“Ugh, I know that, Tris! But what do I say?”

“Um, just spitballing here, but maybe that you appreciated their email?”

I scoffed. “I know that, asshole. But this email feels too, I don’t know . . . important? Significant? I don’t know.”

He smirked again. “You said that already.”

“Shut up. Help me!”

Tristan just stared at his camera as if his gaze was crossing the miles and actually looking into my soul. I shifted in my seat as the silence lengthened. Then, finally, he spoke. “What are you afraid of, Cammy?”

I blinked at him. “What?”

“Just that: What are you afraid of? Why don’t you want to reply to this email?”

“I just . . .” My shoulders slumped. “I can’t explain it, but I feel a connection with whoever wrote this email. Like this could lead somewhere. And that’s . . .” I sighed.

“That’swhat scares you.”

I nodded slowly.