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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“ T hatcher and I almost kissed.”

I know it’s pathetic, but I refuse to use the word we or us when I’m able to think before I speak. Ingrid meets my gaze in the mirror and asks, “What?”

I think I said it because I knew she couldn’t hear me that well or read my lips. I wanted to say it out loud, taste it on my lips just as I want to taste him. My heart still isn’t beating correctly. It reminds me more of a kick drum being played by a cracked-out rocker than it does a vital organ. But then, that’s how it has always been when I think of him.

When I’m around him.

When he smiles at me.

When he’s being a father.

Feeling a bit brave, I repeat myself, and Ingrid’s eyes widen with excitement. “Why didn’t you kiss?”

“Arwen interrupted us.”

Her lips curve up. “This is why I’m not having kids. I don’t want anyone interrupting me when I want to kiss my man.”

I raise a brow. “Your man? Do you have someone in mind?”

She waves me off. She has never been super boy crazy. Only concerned with school and bettering herself. I know Maeve worries, but I truly think that Ingrid doesn’t need anyone. One day, though, someone will come along that she will want. No matter what, Ingrid will shine. “Not at all. Also, I’m not saying that I don’t adore my sweet niece, but this is why you two need tonight.”

I am well aware, but that doesn’t mean the butterflies aren’t doing aerial acrobatics in my belly. Our parents took Arwen with them as soon as we got home from the party. I don’t know if Thatcher had told them or if they eavesdropped, but they told us to enjoy ourselves. I made sure to give my sweet girl all the kisses, but she was too entertained by her dedes acting like horses that needed a rider.

I don’t remember my dad ever giving me a horseback ride as a kid, but then, aren’t parents the total opposite when they have grandkids? I think I saw that on Instagram, and now I know it’s true.

I’m upstairs in my room as Ingrid fusses over me. She’s curling my hair after doing my makeup so light, only to enhance my features, but she’s left my freckles on display. She keeps grinning, her eyes shining, and I can tell she’s excited for me. For the possibilities of tonight. If I allowed myself to, I’d have to admit I am too. It’s our first date, something we’ve never had, and while I am still so freaked out about allowing myself to let my feelings for him loose, it’s getting harder not to do so. He’s just so open, so blatantly into me, and I want to do the same. I want to be his. I want him to be mine, but something is holding me back.

Hopefully after tonight, though, that will change.

“Did you want to kiss him?”

I scoff at that, but then I hide my face so she can’t see the flush. Of course I did, but I don’t know if I’m ready to admit that.

“You should have kissed him anyway,” Ingrid says, and I cut my eyes up to her.

A grin curves my lips as I say, “Oh yeah?”

She nods as if she knows she’s right. “Yeah, the sexual tension between you is a living, breathing thing. All of us feel it, and maybe if you act on it, things will be toned down and not leave us all gagging.”

I snort a laugh at that, though, I don’t think there is any toning down what’s between Thatcher and me. As she said, it’s a living, breathing thing that is begging for us to act on our desires. But damn it, the last time we did, everything blew up in our faces.

I don’t answer her, only watch as she finishes my hair. I try to come up with different scenarios for tonight and then how I’ll handle them. It’s how I manage my anxiety that likes to rear its ugly head. I am usually ten steps ahead, but that day Thatcher came barreling into the office at the IceCats compound, I was nowhere near prepared. Just like how I felt when he came into the diner.

Thatcher Orlov keeps me on my toes.

There is a knock at the door, and we both turn as Arwen comes into the room, pulling a little red wagon. I scrunch my brows together since she’s supposed to be at my mom’s. She struggles in, the carpet making it hard for her to pull the wagon. I get up to help her, but then I’m knocked to a dead stop when I see the contents. A huge bouquet of red roses in a sleek black vase sits beside a large black box with a big red bow. Beside it is a shoe-sized black box also with a bow, and on top is a small black box with another smaller black box on top of that. My heart thumps in my chest as my mouth goes dry. Meanwhile, Arwen is grinning up at me like she is delivering me a pony.

She holds out her hand, and in it is a black envelope. My breath catches as I hunch down to take it from her. Before I can open it, though, Arwen comes closer, her fingers moving along my hair. With such wonderment in her eyes, she signs, You’re so pretty, Mommy.

My heart clenches in my chest as I tell her, Not as pretty as you, my love. Thank you for my gifts.

She shakes her head, her eyes full of mischief. They’re not from me, she signs, her lips curving up. They’re from Daddy.

Daddy ? I sign, just to mess with her. Mine or yours?

She giggles at my silliness, throwing her arms up in frustration. My daddy because he wanted to make you happy.

My heart swells as I look into the very eyes she shares with the man who does make me happy. Well, thank you.

She nods at a job well done and then skips off toward the door. I watch as she disappears, and then I hear her squeal loudly as she usually does when Thatcher captures her before lifting her above his head. At six-three, that’s one hell of a flight, and I don’t blame her for the squeal. I hear Thatcher say, “Good job, malyshonuk ,” and my heart soars.

He is the best dad.

I knew he would be.

I lower myself to the bed beside where Arwen parked my wagon as a fluttery feeling fills my chest. Not only did he put the boxes in it, but he also filled the wagon with fresh white rose petals. I feel Ingrid sit beside me before I open the envelope to his neat handwriting. As kids, I used to make fun of him since he wrote better than my left-handed self, but now, I’m in awe of it.

Or maybe it’s his words.

Audrina,

Over three years ago, I had this whole night planned out as I watched you sleep the morning after our night together. A night I’ll never forget, because of how very special it was to me. I need you to know that I had every single detail arranged for our first date with the intention of showing you just how great it’d be with me. But we know how that played out. This is my do-over. Something I never thought I’d have, and let me tell you, I’m not taking this chance for granted. I know that no matter what you would wear tonight, I’d be utterly obsessed with you, but I wanted you to wear something I picked out for you. I hope you like everything, and I can’t wait to show you a night you’ll never forget.

This may be our first date, but trust, it’s not our last.

Xoxo,

T.

My eyes go misty when I read the last line, and I find myself reading it all over again before I press the letter to my chest. Is this real life? Did he really have all this planned? I am sure I would have been just as floored as I am now if he had been given the chance to show me this kind of attention. I never saw him wine and dine a woman. I’m not an idiot; I know he slept around, but he never had to try.

This is him trying.

For me.

I sigh deeply before burning-hot anticipation courses through me.

I don’t know if I’ll make it through this night unscathed, and honestly, I don’t want to.