Page 91 of Accidental Blind Date
Moments later, the release builds up deep inside of me, rushing through me like a bullet train before crashing into her and we both come undone, wave after wave until I collapse on the bed next to her. Together, we turn towards each other, thewarm air wafting through the cracked French doors. We have no need for a blanket. No need to cover up. But we don’t fall asleep. Instead, we lay away for hours just talking.
“I think the hardest part of all is when the girls and I are doing something, simple daily tasks like making pancakes or putting a Band-Aid on a paper cut, and we realize that she’s gone. I half expect her to come out of the bathroom, her hair in a towel smelling like coconut, a smile on her face. She’d help me make sure the pancakes aren’t burnt or mushy. She’d know just what to say to make the pain of the paper cut go away, and the smiles come back. But then I blink and realize, it’s just me.”
“I think,” Libby says while playing with my fingers as we hold hands, facing each other still, “That you are doing an amazing job.”
“Not like her,” I say. “No one could do it like her. She was their mother.”
“And you are their father.”
“It’s not the same,” I say.
“No. It’s not. But it is, however, just as important.”
“How so?” I ask.
“I had a good dad. Actually, an amazing dad. And he went through what you’re going through. My mom died when I was younger, and he had no idea what to do. But he figured it out. He figured it out for us. And over time, we were okay again. Happy again, even. Because he loved us and he didn’t give up.”
“Sometimes I don’t feel like that’s enough,” I admit.
“But it is. Trust me. It is.”
I kiss her again, because I don’t know what else to do. And because I am feeling things I haven’t in so long. Things I didn’t think I could feel again. Honestly, I never thought I would. I watch as she starts to fall asleep, her eyes growing heavy and her breathing becoming more rhythmic.
And I start to wonder if this can really be. Nervousness builds in me. Because even if I want it (and I really do) I have to ask myself if I am ready for it? If the girls are ready for it. It’s one thing for them to love Miss Libby’s story time and mac and cheese night. It’s another for her to be a new constant.
I brush the hair from her face and kiss her on the forehead before rolling onto my back. It’s a lot for my heart to process these feelings. But at the same time, I know I could never let her go. I am in far too deep.
Chapter 32
Libby
“Icannot wait to sleep in my own bed again,” I mumble as Dax, and I sit against the wall. We are at the airport in Houston, waiting for a connecting flight to Boston that has already been delayed three times.
“I’d be happy in any bed at this point,” he says. “Want to get a hotel?”
“I want to go home,” I say. “Summer said Tom isn’t doing so hot and I need to check on him.”
“Tom?” Dax asks, turning towards me. His shoulder, that I was resting my head on, shifts and my head bobs sleepily.
“The plant, not the guy,” I clarify.
“Ah. Well, I’m sure Tom– both Toms– will be fine for another night. But it’s 2am and our flight has already been pushed back several times. I’m not seeing sleep in our near future.”
“I’m practically sleeping right now,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder again and letting my eyes droop. But they pop open as a voice comes over the speaker for our gate announcing that the flight has again been pushed back…until 1pm.
A unanimous groan overtakes the gate, some of it coming from me.
“Fuck,” I say, letting my head roll back. “Maybe we should have stayed in Costa Rica.”
“We’re getting a hotel,” he says, shoving up to his feet and pulling his phone out. “I am booking one now. We can sleep and come back and catch the flight.”
I can’t argue with that anymore, especially since the new flight time is so far away and I’m so tired. A few minutes later, Dax holds out a hand to help me up. “It’s booked.”
“It is?” I ask.
“Yep. Marriott down the street. A shuttle will take us there and bring us back tomorrow. But tonight…there is a king-sized bed waiting for us.”
“You are a saint,” I say, planting a kiss on his cheek.
