Page 96 of Damon

“You’re right, you’ve no right to ask that of me.” My tone is harsh, and I narrow my eyes, annoyed with him being so blunt. Annie continues to cling to my leg. “You shattered my heart three months ago, Damon. Do you think cutting my grass and fixing a gutter is going to erase the pain?”

“Of course not,” he says meekly. His shoulders sag, and he breathes out heavily. “I know I have a lot to prove to you, but I’m being clear about what my intentions are. I want you back, Spitfire, with me and Annie in our home, under our roof. And eventually in my bed.”

“I told you not to call me that,” I mutter petulantly. He cocks his head to the side, then raises an eyebrow.

“But you love it when I do.”

***

Damon

For the past week, I have skirted around the topic I want to discuss. We’ve barely spoken. It’s infuriating knowing she’s a matter of meters from me, and I can’t walk over to speak to her. All I want to do is drop to my knees and ask her how I can fix this, but I doubt that will work. She’s independent and headstrong; for me to bring her around won’t happen purely with pretty words. Actions speak louder than words, and deciding to rent the RV and park outside her house had been extreme, but it was the only way I could think of to be near her, ready to talk when she was.

Harrison suggested perhaps that parking outside her house was a bit full-on. He sent me the booking information for a few local hotels. I disregarded the idea because I wanted to know where she was, and I wanted to be there as soon as she felt able to approach me. When I discovered she was dating, it was the ass kick I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and go for what I wanted—and that is Emma. All of her. I want to have a family with her; the three of us, a perfect unit.

My mother had given me some hard truths in recent weeks regarding my situation. When I told her I felt my moving on was detrimental to Connie’s memory and her position as Annie’s mother, she had shot me down in flames. “What was Connie’s dream?” she snapped, completely fed up with my self-pity.

“To have a child.”

“And why would she want a child? What did she want to provide for them?” I stared at her, confused by the question. The answer so obvious it felt stupid to say it. “Damon,” she prompted.

“A family. Love. The normal things people want to have in their life.”

“And can Connie provide that now?” she asked bluntly. Silence sucked all air from the room as her question made a succinct point. I swallowed, and she smiled sadly. “She’s gone, son. Connie was a wonderful woman and a beautiful wife. She would have been an amazing mother, but that chance isn’t hers to have. You, however, have the opportunity to create what she dreamed of, and as Annie’s father, give the little girl she so wanted everything she can’t. Do you think she would want you to be alone?”

“It feels wrong.”

“Your relationship with Emma?”

“No, that felt completely right,” I answered on impulse before realizing what question she had asked. My mother hadn’t mentioned Emma in the weeks she stayed with me. Her focus had been on me as a single father with childcare, but now I realized she had been waiting for the right moment to bring Emma, my missing piece, into the light.

“Then why did you let her go?”

“Because I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, you are.”

So now, Emma stands in her doorway with my daughter attached to her leg and glares at me. I knew calling her Spitfire would ruffle feathers, but after a week of being present but not in her face, I am keen to move closer to an actual conversation about our future. If there is the possibility of one.

“I used to love it when you called me that,” she shoots back, and I roll my eyes at her. “Now, it isn’t so endearing.” She straightens her shoulders, then flicks a strand of blonde hair out of her face. I take a step forward, coming closer but still keeping a distance between us.

“What would you prefer to be called?” Her breathing is audible, her breasts rising and falling enticingly under the simple pink sweater she wears with jeans and bare feet. “Because I don’t mind. I’ll call you anything you like if you agree to try again with me. Ma’am, Queen, Boss, Your Honor. Take your pick.”

“It’s not that simple,” she whispers, emotion cracking her voice.

Deciding that the conversation has progressed further than I expected it to, I do the only thing I can think of. The thing I said I wouldn’t. I drop to my knees on her doorstep. She gasps, and Annie waddles over to me, wrapping her arms around my neck. We both look up at the woman we so desperately want to come home to us.

“Please,” I say, struggling to push the words past my lips. “Please give us a chance to be us. The three of us. Together.”

Chapter thirty-five

Emma's Cottage, Aviemore

June 2023

Emma

“Do you want to stay for supper tonight?” I ask Damon as we sit opposite each other on deck chairs in the little cottage garden that has become home. He glances up, surprised. “Well, you have been here twelve weeks, and I haven’t fed you.”

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