Page 104 of Never In My Wildest Dreams

She chewed like it was her job. Like she had an engine in her jaw.

“Good?” Booker asked.

She made a circular motion around her stomach. “Das good in my belly.”

For one moment, they held each other’s gazes, both smiling, and the connection cracked something open in him. Affection poured out.

He tried doing triage to stop the flood, but then the little girl giggled.

She fucking giggled. Her nose crinkled, her chiclet teeth were on full display, and it all just gushed out of him.

The hushed conversation broke through, and he turned to find them all watching.

“Okay, what is going on here?” Noa’s finger wagged between Booker and Stevie. And then, her eyes went wide, and her gaze snapped over to Hellcat. “Are they?—”

Hellcat shook her head firmly. She clearly didn’t want to have this conversation in front of the kid.

“Two more bites,” Booker said. “And I’ll make your coffee.”

Conversation resumed, and Stevie finished her oatmeal. When he got up to get the cocoa, Hellcat said, “The packets are in the pantry.”

“I think you know I don’t do packets.”

“Hey, Mister. Wait.” The little girl jumped to the floor and jogged over.

He was crouched over, searching for a pan, when she reached him. The position brought them eye to eye, and he took in her features—those eyes the same green as his, the red bow lips, and the little button nose. He stilled, just staring at her as it dawned on him that she was half him. Literally half of his DNA was in her. His mom, his grandparents, aunts, uncles…this child was his.

It gutted him that the man who’d raised him wasn’t in her genetic makeup.

But that’s not true, is it? That man—my dad—is in me. It might not be biological, but he left his imprint in my DNA. My dad lives on through me, and—if you’re in her life—now her.

And then, that sweet little girl broke into a smile. “You gone make me coffee?”

“I sure am.”

She reached out to touch his jaw. “Where fuzzy?”

“Fuzzy?” He didn’t know what she meant.

She cupped his cheeks with both her hands. “You soft.”

Her grandfather, her uncle, even Ginty had facial scruff. “Oh, that’s because I shave.”

“You shave?”

“Yeah, I don’t like beards. They’re itchy, and they get food in them.”

She nodded like she totally agreed. “I gon shave too.”

“One day, you might. But probably not your face.”

She rubbed her cheek against his. “I soft, too.”

He knew she just wanted to show him they both had smooth cheeks, but he had the impulse to hug her. He wrapped an arm around her tiny waist and held her loosely, lightly.

She might have a strong spirit and a feisty nature, but in reality, she was so helpless, so fragile. She needed people to look out for her, care for her. His protective instincts surged. And he understood it was so much more than survival.

Kids would be mean to her.

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