Page 18 of Mistletoe Meet Cute
She shrugs. “Don’t be a grinch, Camden.”
“I saw the garland, Holly.” I turn and kiss Sophie’s head, and my headache lessens as soon as she smiles. “Hey, sweet girl. Daddy missed you.”
Holly sits down at the table and lays a napkin primly in her lap. “You said I could decorate.”
“You don’t think I’m a grinch, do you, baby?” I unbuckle Sophie and blow a raspberry on her neck until she giggles and smacks my cheeks. “If you keep my kid this happy, you can decorate anything you want.”
Holly seems a little too happy about that, but right now, I can’t bring myself to care.
CAMDEN
Wednesday
Sophie andI have a routine.
Wake up.
Lie in bed together for a few minutes before she’s pissed at the world and demanding to be fed.
Come downstairs and turn the coffee on to brew while I make my girl her bottle.
Then shower and get dressed. Always in that order because Soph is a messy eater.
It works for us.
Routines make life easier. They let you know what to expect and how to plan, and I’m all about planning to succeed. There’s already enough difficulty in the world, so if you can make things easier for yourself and you don’t, that’s on you.
But as I go to pour my coffee after Sophie’s bottle this morning, I reach for my favorite mug and come up empty-handed. It’s gone. Not just gone, replaced. By a bright green ugly thing with what looks like a Santa suit on it and a tiny red heart on the front. Is this—” Holly...”
“Good morning.” She dances in, looking like sex dipped in sin, completely ignoring the yelling and smiling at my baby girl.
What the fuck?
Who wears knee socks and shorts in the middle of December, and why do I have the distinct urge to bend my nanny over the counter and fuck her in nothing but those goddamned socks?
Oh for fucks sake . . .
I force the picture of Holly naked and dripping away from the front of my mind. Not like it’s gone forever. I’m a man, and it’s a good picture. But no good is going to come of it now. Instead, I hold up the mug, pissed. Less pissed now that I’ve seen her, but also not willing to let her know that. “What is this?”
Sophie shrieks happily like a baby pterodactyl who wants to get in on the yelling, and I realize my voice is still raised.
“It’s a grinch for a grinch.” My beautiful nanny beams like this ugly mug is the best thing she’s ever seen or said as she reaches out and takes Sophie from my arms, completely ignoring my salty mood. “Good morning, sugar plum.” She kisses Sophie’s head like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I might actually be jealous of my kid for a moment. A moment where I plead temporary insanity. “How did you sleep, sweet girl?”
“Where’s my mug?” I grumble as I pour the coffee in this fluorescent green bullshit that hurts my eyes.
“It’s still in there, it’s just behind the fun ones.” Holly fills the teapot and turns it on before grabbing the canister of hot chocolate and adding a scoop to a pink mug with white snowflakes on it. “Should we add marshmallows?” she asks Sophie animatedly, and just like that, I’m less mad.
I inhale a deep breath and watch her with my daughter, holding her like she’s an extension of herself.
Why the fuck is that hot?
What the hell is wrong with me?
Is this some fucked up version of Munchhausen’s?
She’s too pretty, and too sweet, and too employed by me... and too?—
“How old are you?” I ask, realizing I should probably know this already.
