Page 63 of Pretty Relentless

Ava walks to the dresser, where I have a photograph of Annabelle and me from when she was little. She holds the picture, smiling at the love I always feel from the image. It’s my favorite one, taken when my daughter was about eighteenmonths. She’s got a big, drooly, toothy grin on her face, and my head is thrown back in laughter. I don’t even remember what she did or said, but I’ll never forget the way I felt in that moment.

When she returns the frame to the dresser, she takes in the wall of art, as I like to call it. Things Annabelle’s made for me over the years are taped to the wall opposite my bed. Obviously, I can’t save every drawing or piece of art she creates, but I do keep my favorites. At first, I’d put them on the fridge, but that space was quickly filled, so when Annabelle was in second grade, she suggested I hang them on my bare wall so I could see them every day. In the last three years, that tradition has continued, and my wall is now home to a few dozen of her best art pieces.

“I love this,” Ava murmurs, taking her time and scanning each picture.

“I wanted to keep some of her work, so she suggested we hang them here. We add to it a few times throughout the year.”

She turns and gazes at me, her eyes full of awe and excitement. “You’re such a great dad.”

I shrug casually, even though the compliment is the greatest I could receive. “Thank you. I try hard.”

“It shows,” she replies.

“There’s a walk-in closet and a bathroom through there,” I tell her, pointing to the two other doors in the room.

“You have a great home,” she states, turning her attention back to me.

“Thanks. It’s quiet and a bit lonely when she’s with her mom, but when she’s here, it’s filled with laughter and happiness.” I keep my feet rooted to the floor instead of going to her and taking her in my arms the way I want.

She takes a few steps toward me. “I couldn’t help but notice how big your bed is.” A faint pink coloring stains her cheeks.

“I like to spread out,” I tell her, now vividly picturing her curled up in my blankets.

“Me too,” she confesses, turning her attention to the bed. “Though, I’ve never really had much opportunity to try the whole cuddle thing, so I don’t know if I prefer that.”

“No? Maybe we should try it sometime. I’ve always preferred my space, but maybe if I had the right cuddle partner, I wouldn’t mind snuggling close.”

She’s fighting a grin. “Makes sense. We could give it a test sometime, you know, to see what all the fuss is about. Come to think of it, I don’t have anything going on later tonight.”

My cock is now fully erect and ready to go. “No?” I’m able to keep my excitement and anticipation out of that one word.

“Nope,” she says, stepping into my personal space and placing her hands on my chest. “I might have brought an overnight bag.”

My dick kicks at my zipper, desperately trying to get out. “Really? I don’t recall seeing it,” I reply, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her against me.

She lifts her shoulders gently. “I wasn’t sure you were on board for a potential snuggle buddy tonight, so I left it in my trunk.”

Placing my hands on her arms, I hold her gaze as I say, “I’m always on board, but not until you’re ready.”

Going up on her tiptoes, she brushes her mouth against mine. “I’m ready.”

My heart is trying to burst from my chest, and my cock is all but pulling a Kool-Aid Man from its denim confines, but as excited as I am, I’m doing this right. “All right, let’s table this discussion for a bit later. First up, dinner. Then, that true crime documentary. What happens after, happens. We’ll talk about it when the time comes.”

Something flashes through her eyes, but before I can dissect the look, it’s gone. “So what did you make for dinner?” she asks, taking a step back and putting space between us. I hate it but know it’s necessary. Otherwise, I’m liable to throw my timetable right out the window and take her to bed right now.

“I cheated and pulled something from the freezer,” I confess, taking her hand and leading her back to the kitchen.

“Well, it smells amazing, whatever it is.”

“Lasagna and garlic bread. My mom insists on making freezer meals all winter long, and I benefit from her obsession. I was going to make something myself, but this seemed simpler and allows me to spend more time with you without worrying about cooking. Plus, let’s be honest, my mom’s meals—even her freezer ones—are much better than anything I could fix,” I say. “Have a seat at the table, while I finish up. Are you thirsty? I have white wine, water, juice, and Sprite.”

“I’ll have a Sprite for now. Maybe some wine later,” she replies.

While I grab the French bread I prepped before she arrived and place it in the preheated oven, I take out two cans of Sprite and put them on the table, where two place settings are ready.

“Oh, how was the movie last night with Annabelle? She was so excited to go see it,” Ava asks, opening her drink and taking a sip.

“She loved it. I never would have thought she’d be so into theGhostbustersseries. She loves the new ones, and when she heard the original was turning forty and coming back to theaters for the anniversary, she insisted on going to see it.”

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