Page 84 of Where We Stay

I’ve changed my shirt three times.

Three.

Fucking.

Times.

I’m thirty-five years old, not sixteen, and yet somehow Blair Morgan has me standing in front of my closet like I’m about to ask a girl to prom.

I pull on dark jeans and the charcoal Henley Rory bought me last Christmas, then stare at myself in the mirror.

Too much?

Fucking hell.

I’m changing shirts for a woman I’m apparently not taking on a date.

When I walk into the living room to make sure Aspen is ready, I slip the little gift I bought Blair into my jacket pocket.

It’s not a date gift.

It’s a birthday gift.

Completely different.

“Daddy, why are you wearing the nice boots?” Aspen asks, pointing at my feet.

I look down at them. “They’re just boots.”

“Nana says you only wear those when you’re trying to look handsome.” She plants her hands on her hips.

Traitor.

“Come on, nosy.” I grab my keys and gesture toward the front door. “Let’s go.”

Aspen giggles as she races outside. I make sure she’s buckled in before climbing behind the wheel and setting off to pick up Blair.

For our not date.

* * *

The second I pull up outside Blair’s cottage, Aspen reaches for her buckle.

“Can we go to the door, Daddy?”

“Okay, Penny. Let’s go.”

Aspen races up the porch steps before I’ve even closed my door.

“Can I knock?” she asks, bouncing on her toes.

“Go for it.”

The door opens, and every thought in my head disappears.

Fuck.

She looks good.