Page 70 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I’ll keep this one.”
“Okay. I trust you.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head and leaves the way he came.
I’m left with his words spinning on an endless wheel in my mind.
I don’t have expectations.
I don’t.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Breck
Willow and I walk down Stateline Blvd with the late afternoon sunlight bouncing off the sleek pavement as we head toward the condo. We wrapped up school early and went to the ice rink for a quick skate. By the time we get back, Chinese food containers in tow, Rory should be home from work, and we can all enjoy a casual dinner together.
Her boss was out sick at the end of last week, so today she was supposed to ask him about taking time off. There’s only one mid-week elopement this month, but there are two scheduledfor March and two for April, so I’m hoping it won’t be a problem. I could tell this morning that she was nervous. This is a lot for her. I remember how stressful it was in the early days of starting a business… Hell, I feel it now with how intrinsically invested I am in her success. It feels good though, to be doing something, to be helping.
“Daddy, can you take my picture sitting in the giant chair?” Willow gestures to the wooden monstrosity as we pass. The Adirondack chair is at least ten times the normal size and is painted in a myriad of colors.
“Sure, Bear,” I say, and she clambers onto it. She’s unable to even reach the armrests with her arms stretched out to both sides. Her smile is broad and warm, the setting sun behind me lighting her face with a golden glow. I wish Rory was here to take the picture, but I pull my phone from my pocket and do my best with what I’ve got. “Got it.”
“Perfect! Can you send it to Uncle Wes?” she asks, hopping down.
“Absolutely. Are you excited that we get to see him and Joss again soon?” I’ve started mixing in comments about our return home in two weeks whenever I can. One month of homeschooling was as much as Willow’s school would allow without forfeiting her spot, and we can’t avoid reality forever.
“Can’t they come see us again here?” She deflects the question, like she’s done every time I’ve brought it up. She talks a good bit about Wes and Joss, but the mentions of her friends have become few and far between. I don’t know what to make of it. I’m nervous she’ll be on the outside with them after three months away.
“Aren’t you missing your friends?” I want to kick myself for pushing this. It’s not like I’m desperate to go back either.
“Yeah, I guess. But I really like it here.”
“But you don’t have any other kids to play with.”
“I don’t mind just hanging out with you and Rory.” She shrugs her shoulders, her braids moving with them. “She’s more fun anyway.”
“More fun than me?” I ask with feigned offense, clapping my hand across my chest.
“Never, Dad, you’re the funnest. Thanks for taking me ice skating today. I’m finally getting the hang of it.”
I don’t correct her use of the word “funnest,” because what kind of fun dad would I be if I did?
“Yeah, you only fell about twenty times,” I say, needling her.
“Dad! I wasn’t that bad. And you fell too.”
I chuckle under my breath. She has a point. I did fall, but only after I saw a flash of strawberry-blonde hair. My eyes followed the woman, wondering if it was Rory, and the distraction cost me. I slipped and fell, landing hard on my ass. I’m going to have to take advantage of the hot tub later.
A mouth-watering aroma fills the space when we walk into the condo. “Mmm, smells like Rory might be baking.”
Willow takes off toward the kitchen, her wet boots sliding on the floors. “Hey, ankle-biter, boots off first. Then go change into your pajamas, please.”
She turns back and rolls her eyes. “Fine.”
I hold back the reprimand sitting on the tip of my tongue. I don’t want to ruin the fun day we’ve had by getting into it. Not today. I’m still learning which battles to pick, which hills to die on as a parent. Normally, attitude is one of them, but I don’t have it in me right now.
The scents of cinnamon, sugar, and butter meld into something heavenly, but it doesn’t compare to the sight of Rory bent over and pulling a tray from the oven. She has on tight black leggings that stretch over her ass in the most sinful way. I adjust myself in my jeans, itching to reach for her. The full view of her when she stands up—loose sweater draping low offone shoulder, the lace of her bra peeking out—has me stepping behind the counter to conceal the way she affects me.
