As the day is coming to an end, I poke my head back into Cannon’s office.
“Hey man.” When he looks up from his computer, I say, “There’s one last thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
He motions to a chair across from his desk. “What’s on your mind.”
“Douglas,” I say as I land in the seat.
Cannon’s brow knits. “You mean, Mr. Robson?” I nod and his frown goes deeper. “Uh, don’t call him that, man. He doesn’t let people call him that.”
“He doesn’t let you call him that. ‘Cause you made a shitty first impression,” I smirk. “What the hell were you thinking, bro?” Cannon made a shitshow of his first encounter with his father-in-law. The story is cringeworthy.
He drops his head and shakes it. “I’ve apologized to that man a million times.”
“Anyway, me and Douglas, we’re cool,” I say smugly.
My brother’s face falls. “Bastard…” he mutters ruefully.
“Anyway,” I say, reining in the conversation. “That man seriously needs help getting his shop open and we have resources to make it happen.”
“Of course we do,” Cannon says, a hint of frustration in his voice, “and I’ve been telling him that for months. Alexia has tried talking to him, too. But he’s as stubborn as a mule and he refuses to take any of our offers.”
I set my jaw. “Well, the time for ‘offers’ is done. It’s time to lay down the law. He’s getting our help whether he likes it or not. The man means too much to Jessa and I won’t stand by and watch him run himself into the ground with his stubbornness.”
Cannon grins. “Finally something we can both get onboard with.”
“I know right.” My brother bumps his fist into mine. Then we get down to work, devising a plan to provide Douglas with all the assistance he’ll need. Financial, logistical and advisory. The resources of both Kingston Realties as well as Cannon and Lexi’s non-profit will be at the man’s disposal to help make his dreams come true.
After a hard day’s work, I feel accomplished. I get home and walk through the door, dropping my briefcase by the coat rack.
“Daddy!” Callie shouts, running from the kitchen to greet me. Her arms wrap around my legs like vines and I melt. I pick up her little body and lift her into the air, swinging her above my head. Her giggles pour down on me like rain.
Jessa pokes her head around the corner to see what all the commotion is. She welcomes me home with a sweet smile. She’s in the kitchen, and whatever she’s been cooking, I could smell it as soon as I walked up the porch steps. When I stalk up to her at the stove and drop a kiss on her neck, she melts into my arms.
Damn, I could get used to this.
For the first time, in way too fucking long, I feel like a man.
Working all day. Being missed. Having a home cooked meal waiting for me. Coming home to my girls.
My girls.
Shit. I like the way that sounds. It feels so damn natural.
The only thing missing is Jessa’s body on mine, and if I have anything to say about it, I’m going to have that. Soon.
My stare lingers on her all throughout dinner, and she blushes the whole time. Hell. If I’m being honest, this sexual tension was always there, from the very first morning I laid eyes on her. I’ve just finally given up being a broody asshole, and now I can admit what I want. Her. A life with her. A family with the three of us here in this house.
Halfway through dinner, my phone vibrates in the front pocket of my slacks. Curious as to who the hell is interrupting my meal, I grab it.
It’s Rivers. My private investigator buddy.
I open up the text message he just sent me.
While I’m reading it, Callie knocks over her small glass of milk, and Jessa hops up to get her some more.
Rivers: Good news. Found your mystery woman. Call me in the morning.
My eyes drift to Jessa as she helps Callie with her dinner, cleaning up the mess, and finishing her own meal, all with a bright grin on her face.
She never gets upset, never complains. She’s sweet, loving, and unnaturally patient. All while being so fucking beautiful.
I don’t even have to think about it—I hit ‘delete’ on Rivers’ message and shove the phone back in my pocket.
I don’t want some stranger. I want Jessa.
50 Eli
Callie grins at her great-grandfather and chirps, “Gramps! Listen to this.” She nudges me off the piano bench with her little elbow. “Daddy, no helping this time,” she scolds.
Hands held up in surrender, I climb to my feet. I stand beside Jessa and we listen to the girl’s rendering of Happy Birthday to You.
My grandfather’s eyes glitter as he reclines in his armchair and claps along.
Ma watches Callie proudly and she begins singing the lyrics to the birthday song. Walker sings along too, taking the notes of the song to places they were never meant to go. Wincing and plugging our ears, the rest of us join in.
When the song comes to a close, Dad gives Callie a tight hug. “Great job, Bug. I’m so proud of you."
Beaming off of my father’s praise, Callie stands and takes a bow as the rest of us applaud and cheer.
It’s Gramps’s 90th birthday and the family has gathered in the rec room of the nursing home to celebrate. Mom and Dad are here with Jude, Iris, Penny, Walker and the twins. Cannon and Alexia should be here any minute now but they’re running late since my brother had a meeting with Douglas this morning to talk business strategy for the Robson’s repair shop. Anyway, we all feel blessed that Gramps is having another one of his good days and he seems to be coherent for the most part, although he still struggles with his thoughts from time to time.
A nurse’s
