Page 65 of Like A Daydream
He pulls her to him gently, and she looks anywhere but at his eyes, so clear and honest, to steady herself. Steady her breathing as he continues.
“I do know that if you can make it through your grief and being a mom, and I can make it through public evisceration and anxiety, we can do this. We can do this, Dani, and it would be so worth it. I love you, and I love Harper, and I have never in my life wanted something as badly as the family we’ve started to create. Please, say you want it too.”
“I do, Andy,” she whispers, looking up at him. “I want it so bad. I wantyouso bad.”
“Be my family, D,” he says softly. “I swear, I’ll take care of you both.”
She throws her arms around his neck, leans up onto her tiptoes and kisses him in a way that says forever, when she knows they only have right now.
“Okay,” she says, pressing their foreheads together. “Okay.”
He kisses her again, and she can’t get enough. His hands are moving over her slowly, reverently, as he presses her up against porch.
“Okay?” he whispers, lips ghosting across her jaw to the spot just under her ear before he moves them down her neck. His arms slide around her waist, pulling her closer.
“Okay,” she sighs, sliding her hands down his back and under the hem of his shirt so she can get at his skin. “Inside.”
“Harper?” he mumbles, pushing her shirt up slowly.
“Asleep,” she replies breathily. “Andyplease.”
“I’ve got you, Dani,” he says, lifting her up so her legs are hooked around him. He pulls open the screen door and steps into her hallway.
The door swings shut behind them and he sets her down, lips finding hers again.
“I’ll take care of you.” He repeats it softly, like a prayer.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Andrew:
“It doesn’t fit,” Danielle says, frustrated.
“It’ll fit,” Andrew says, equally frustrated. “You just have to twist a little bit and slide it in.”
“Andy, this isn’t working!”
“Relax,” he says, going for a different tactic, “I can’t do anything if you don’t relax.”
“Iamrelaxed, it’s just not going to fit!”
“I swear, it’s the right size,” Andrew says, readjusting the skate before trying to ease Danielle’s foot in again, “I triple checked with the rink person, and held up your shoe for comparison.”
“I don’t think shoes are an accurate comparison to blades of death,” Danielle says, folding her arms over her chest.
“They are notblades of death,” Andrew says, rolling his eyes fondly. He looks over Danielle’s shoulder to see Harper wobbling around on her own pair of skates, and tries again to slide Danielle’s foot in.
This time, he’s caught her off guard, and it goes in easily.
“They are, though,” Danielle says, “I saw that video of that guy who got his jugular cut and bled out on the ice, Andy, don’t tell me you can’t die doing this.”
“That was a freak thing,” Andrew replies as he laces her skate. “I’m not going to let you cut your jugular. You just have to trust me.”
He slides the other one onto her foot, testing the ankle support with his hands as he does so. He’s surprised at the quality of rental skates here. Most places offer cheap skates he wouldn’t give anyone, let alone a beginner, but these ones are really nice.
Of course, his are custom-fit Bauer Vapor Hyperlites, but he’s not going to tell Danielle that. Or how much they cost, for that matter.
