Page 75 of The Best Bad Decision

“Don’t do that, Cam,” she says, locking her hazel eyes with mine. “Don’t feel guilty for my plans being different this year.”

“I just want to give you and Maisy everything,” I say. “And you love Christmas with your family. You miss them. I can tell.”

“You’re our family too.” She hooks an ankle over my leg and pulls herself closer until she’s almost lying on top of me. “And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you.”

I lean in to kiss her, long and languid. I’m spent from our earlier activities, but I can’t get enough of her lips on mine. Nothing in this world could stop me from kissing Amie Caine.

Both of my girls are still asleep when I wake the next morning. The world is still under the cover of night, but soft wisps of tangerine lick at the sky’s edges, promising daybreak. I tug on a pair of basketball shorts and cross my apartment to the kitchen, opening cupboard doors slowly to keep them quiet. I crack some eggs into a bowl, then add flour, sugar and milk, and heat a pan on the stove. The first two pancakes are ready for flipping when I hear Maisy stirring on the sofa bed.

“Daddy?” she whispers. Her voice is soft, husky from sleep and thick with the threat of tears. “Daddy,” she calls again. I lower the heat and cross the room to her.

“I’m here, Maisy Girl,” I say, scooping her into my arms and returning to the kitchen. “I’m right here.”

She looks down at the pan and then back to me.

“Pancakes?” she asks hopefully. “With strawberries?”

“You want strawberries, honey? You can have strawberries,” I promise. There’s a Tupperware full of them in the fridge, just waiting for a pancake breakfast.

With Maisy cradled against me in one arm, I use the other to scoop the pancakes onto a plate and pour some more batter into the pan. As they cook, I slip the plated food into the oven to stay warm, and when I glance over to the bed, I find Amie sitting against a stack of pillows, hair unkempt from sleep, watching us with a soft smile on her face.

“Looks like Mommy’s awake,” I tell Maisy, who has Roger clutched to her chest and her head resting on my shoulder like she might fall asleep again at any second. “Wanna go say good morning?”

I set her down and she makes a beeline for the bed, leaping up and straight into Amie’s waiting arms.

My heart swells when I watch my girls. I’ve never known this kind of feeling. I’ve always been happy in my life. I’ve always had good friends, great family, I found a job I adore that never feels like work. But it pales in comparison with my girls, the way it feels to simply share their space.

I prepare two plates of pancakes with strawberries and syrup, and carry them with two mugs of coffee to the bed.

“Breakfast is served,” I say, waving with a dramatic flourish as I hand Maisy a fork.

“Thank you,” Amie says softly, cutting into Maisy’s pancakes and then her own. I lean in to kiss her and she pulls back, laughing.

“Don’t kiss me yet,” she says. “I haven’t brushed my teeth, I have morning breath.”

“I don’t care,” I say simply, pressing forward to steal a kiss. She tastes of syrup and strawberries and forever, and it might be my new favourite flavour.

We have a lazy day at home—just the three of us. I don’t have a private pool like my parents do, but I do have a TV and a microwave. We watch Disney princess movies and eat popcorn, just content to betogether. Maisy and I build an airport with her new planes, and Amie helps her put together some puzzles.

And now, I’m in paradise. Maisy is napping on my chest, and Amie is beside me, legs slung across my lap, drifting in and out of sleep. I may not have much, but here in this moment, I feel like the richest man in the fucking world.

Four months ago, I was a single man with no responsibilities, hung up on a girl I spent one night with almost four years ago. Now, I’m a dad, a partner. My whole world is right here in my apartment, snuggled on the sofa watchingMoana. This isn’t the Christmas I expected… it’s so much more. And if every Christmas can be like this—making breakfast for my girls and spending the day just existing with them—then I’ll be a happy man.

In the evening after Maisy falls asleep, Amie unearths a package of tea from her suitcase and prepares a cup for us both. As a lifelong coffee fan, tea has never been a favourite of mine, but this one is fruity and spicy; it tastes like Amie and I sip at it until my mug is empty.

“What if I move?” I pick up the two empty mugs and deposit them in the sink.

“You’re already moving,” she says, confusion furrowing her brow. “You were greenlit for Boston, right? Tell me you’re not commuting there from Phoenix.”

“No, no,” I say, hurriedly. “I meant, what if I move to London.”

“Oh,” she says softly. Her downturned lips and the deeper furrow in her brow make my chest ache. “You can’t commute from London. Phoenix to San Francisco is already a stretch; you’ll be so much closer when you’re in Boston.”

“I’ll make the commute Amie.” I rub small circles on her arm. “It’s not that long of a flight. Guys commute transcontinental all the time, and it’s the same flight time. Phoenix, Boston, none of it matters. I don’t want to be here if you’re not.”

“But Phoenix—”

I press a finger to her lips.

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