Doughn’t Let Me Go

by Hunter, Teagan

  “Jesus, Foster.”

  “Which is it? Jesus or Foster?” He wraps his arm around Wren’s waist. “Because last night it was definitely God.”

  “Please tell me you did not bone while my daughter stayed the night.”

  “Don’t worry,” Foster says, pecking a kiss to Wren’s still red cheek and snatching the plate out of her hand. She’s still staring at me. “It was just some over-the-pants action.”

  “Foster!” This pulls her out of her trance, and she swats at him repeatedly.

  He cowers from her onslaught. “Ow, woman! You’re the one who couldn’t keep her hands off me because Kristoff from Frozen got you all hot and bothered. All I did was oblige your requests!”

  “I’m taking my daughter and leaving before this gets any weirder.”

  I head down the hall toward the nursery and can’t help but laugh at the sign taped to the door, which Wren clearly helped her make.

  NO BOYS ALLOWED! ESPECIALLY UNCLE FOSTER!

  I can hear Kyrie talking to herself through the door, or maybe it’s baby Nellie she’s chatting with. Ya never know with her.

  “Ugh. Can you believe Uncle Foster didn’t cut my crust off? He knows I don’t like it. I was very pacific on what I wanted, and I’m the queen so he has to listen to me. Those are the rules.”

  I knock on the door.

  “Kyrie?”

  “Who?”

  I try not to laugh, because she sounds so much like Foster right now it’s unreal.

  “Your Majesty, Queen of the Tea Party Room, it’s your father, the king.”

  “Gross, Dad! You are not the king. Then we’d have to be married like Uncle Foster and Aunt Wren. I know how this works!”

  I remember a time when she used to tell me I was the only boy she’d ever want to marry.

  I push the door open and find her sitting cross-legged on the floor, baby Nellie in her crib fast asleep.

  Guess that answers my question of who she was talking to.

  I lean over the side, brushing my thumb over Nellie’s cheek.

  If I didn’t know I had the world’s cutest kid, I’d say it was Nellie. Kyrie just can’t be beat.

  “You ready to go, kiddo?” I ask my daughter.

  She sips her fake tea. Or at least I hope it’s fake. “No.”

  At least she’s honest.

  “Well, too bad. We have plans this weekend.”

  This gets her attention. “We do?”

  “You forgot already?” I crouch down to her level, clicking my tongue. “Gee, spend one night with your aunt and uncle and you’re already forgetting about dear old Dad. I see how it is.”

  She pushes onto her knees, putting her little hand on my cheek.

  “I’d never forget you.”

  There’s my sweet girl.

  “You buy me the best presents.”

  Annnnnd it’s ruined.

  I hold back my laugh. “You little turkey. Come on, let’s get going. Tonight, we’re making pancakes for dinner, and then tomorrow we’re gonna go pick out the paint color for your room.”

  When I first told her we’d be moving, she wasn’t too keen on the idea, insisting she didn’t want to leave her friends behind. I understood, but that’s why I wanted to move when I did. She’s young, and it’s easier for her to make friends now rather than later. She’ll be glad for this when high school comes around if we end up staying.

  So, I compromised. I promised her she could paint and decorate her room herself, anything she wanted. If she wanted dinosaurs in tiaras or spaceships and puppies, she could have them. I wouldn’t object to anything.

  She was on board after that.

  She gasps. “We are?” I nod and she jumps to her feet, bouncing up and down. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  I stand. “Now are you ready to go?”

  Her head bobs up and down vigorously. “But one question.” She holds a little finger up to her face, next to the smile that’s missing a few teeth.

  I already know whatever it is she’s about to ask for, I’ll give her.

  “Shoot.”

  “Can I wear my princess dress?”

  “Only if I can wear your tiara.”

  “You, sir, got a deal.”

  We shake hands.

  Slice Six

  Doris

  There is no way fate is this cruel.

  She usually lets up for a few weeks or months before she decides to knock me on my ass again.

  Not this time, apparently. The bitch must have a vendetta against me, and I want to know what I did to deserve her wrath.

  I recognized him immediately, like his image is burned into my retinas.

  Which, let’s be honest—after our night together, it is.

  It’s been over twenty-four hours since I last saw him but only minutes since I last thought about him.

  I’m not hung up on him or anything, but I just can’t believe I let my libido ruin my chances of getting out of this shitty chapter of life I’ve been living in.

  Change was so close, and I missed my shot.

  I try to slide by without him noticing, but it’s no use.

  “Dory?”

  Stupid small towns. I knew running into him was inevitable eventually, but so soon? And with his daughter here too?

  “Just keep swimming! Just keep swimming! Just keep swimming!” the little girl inside the cart sings loudly.

  Kids always have something to say about my name, but I let it slide. It’s a lot cuter when they do it than when the adults do.

  Except for Porter, maybe.

  Turning, I smile at his daughter, who’s sprawled out, surrounded by a whole mess of things I can’t quite figure out.

  “Swimming, swimming, swimming.” Then I wink.

  “I thought you didn’t want to be equated to a fish,” Porter says.

  “She’s cute enough that I’ll let it pass.”

  His brow shoots up and one side of his mouth curves. “And I’m not?”

  “I like your tiara,” I say in answer.

  “What?” He grabs the plastic crown, adjusting it. “This old thing?”

  It takes everything I have not to smile.

  I let my eyes trail over him, noting that this is the first time I’ve seen him in anything other than dress slacks and a button-down shirt.

  He looks…good. Somehow even better than before.

  The dark jeans he’s wearing hug the legs that tangled with mine, and his black shirt molds to his sculpted chest. I glance at it and smother a laugh. There’s a stick figure holding the control key from a keyboard and it says Taking Control.

  I like that he’s nerdy.

  “Who are you?” the little girl inquires.

  I stick my hand out. “I’m Dory. What’s your name?”

  “Kyrie Jones.” She slides her little hand into mine like a full-grown adult.

  “I love your name,” I tell her. “It’s very beautiful.”

  Porter makes a noise next to me, but I don’t acknowledge him.

  “Thank you. You’re named after a fish.”

  “Or is the fish named after me?”

  Kyrie giggles. “Wouldn’t that be so cool? To have a fish named after you?” Her eyes light up. “Dad, can I have a fish?”

  “We’ll have to make a list.”

  “A list?” I ask.

  “Pros and cons,” Kyrie answers on a sigh. “We always have to make lists. It’s how we compromise.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful way to compromise.”

  “It’s annoying.” She huffs again, and I try not to laugh.

  “I thought you loved our pros and cons lists,” Porter says to her, lips turned down.

  She sends him a look. “Nobody loves lists.”

  “Not true. Your uncle Foster loves them.”

  “Uncle Foster is crazy. Aunt Wren told me so.”

  Their names are too unique for it not to be the couple I’ve never met but have heard so much about from my friend Drew
and her fiancé, Winston.

  I’ve been babysitting Drew’s son, Riker, since he was born. We used to live in the same apartment building until Winston whisked her away like a grumpy knight in shining armor.

  Even though she’s moved, she still lets me watch Riker for her at least twice a month. She’s never actually said it to me, but I think she knows the extra money I get from watching him is what buys the majority of my groceries. Turns out working two part-time minimum-wage jobs while going to school doesn’t, and paying your way through life with no help doesn’t exactly give you a good cushion.

  But that’s what I signed up for when I left with nothing but a thin stack of cash and a backpack.

  Even if it means some weeks all I’m eating is ramen, I still don’t regret it.

  “You know Foster and Wren?”

  Porter looks at me, and for a moment he looks guilty about it. Which is really stupid, because it’s a small town. I’m sure he didn’t pick this place out of the blue.

  “I, uh, I kind of… Well, I kind of moved out here for them. Foster’s my best friend.”

  I nod because of course that would be the case. Stupid small towns.

  “So, you know Drew, then?”

  “She gave me your information last year when I was tossing around the idea of moving here. I passed it along to my assistant and forgot about it. Mel being Mel, she didn’t. When you applied, she put two and two together and kept your application on the top, although you knowing them isn’t why you got the interview. She didn’t tell me, I’m sure because she knows I don’t like to know anything about applicants before I meet them.” His eyes turn soft. “I don’t think your passionate letter hurt your chances either. She was very impressed by it. We both were.”

  I don’t know why my heart starts pounding like I’ve been running a marathon. I’m sure my eyes look wild right now, but I can’t help it.

  The thought of Porter reading my letter…it makes me feel even more exposed to him than I have been, which is crazy because he’s the last guy who saw me naked.

  “You read my letter?”

  “Applied for what?” Kyrie butts in.

  I didn’t even think she was listening to us, her attention occupied by a Marvel pillow that changes pictures when you run your hand over it.

  “To be your new nanny,” Porter says.

  I like that he’s honest with her.

  I think most people in a situation as awkward as the one we’re in would handle this by lying to a prying kid just so they don’t have to face any additional awkward questions later.

  Not Porter.

  Never Porter.

  Kyrie sits up, all the things she had piled on top of her flying everywhere, some even out of the cart.

  I bend to pick up a pillow at the same time Porter does, and our heads collide like this is some cheesy romantic comedy.

  “Ow!”

  “Shit!”

  Kyrie giggles but doesn’t repeat it or admonish him for saying a bad word.

  I glance at him and he shrugs. “It’s just a word,” he explains. “Don’t make a big deal out of it and she won’t either.”

  I nod. “I like that.”

  He drifts closer, and his scent overwhelms me like it did before. “I’m sorry, Dory.”

  “Not now, Porter.”

  “Then when?” Closer still. “We can’t avoid this.”

  “That’s what we planned to do anyway.”

  I stand, and with reluctance, he pushes to his feet too.

  “I’ll let you two get back to your shopping.”

  “What are you here for?” Kyrie asks.

  I hold up the pack of toilet paper, and suddenly I feel embarrassed.

  Not because it’s toilet paper, because everyone uses it, but because it’s the off-brand toilet paper. The cheap stuff.

  “That’s it?”

  I nod. “Just this.”

  “Then stay!” Kyrie begs. “Puh-lease. You can help us pick out more decorations.”

  “Kyrie, I’m sure Dory has other plans.”

  I get it. It’s awkward. He doesn’t want me here.

  “Pro!” His daughter holds her little finger up. “I won’t have to walk around with this guy alone.”

  Oh, god. She’s making a pros and cons list.

  “Good pro. I mean he is wearing a tiara.”

  “Hey! I make this tiara look damn good.”

  We ignore Porter.

  “Con: I’d be interrupting your daddy-daughter time.”

  “We live together. It’s okay.” Kyrie waves her hand like my point is silly. “Pro: I’d make a new friend, and Dad says it’s important to make new friends in our new town.”

  I can’t argue with that point… “Con: I’m technically a stranger, and you’re not supposed to talk to strangers.”

  “How else are you supposed to make friends, then?”

  “Oh snap,” Porter whispers, grinning at his daughter’s ability to best me.

  “What kind of kid are you raising?”

  He laughs. “You wouldn’t believe how often people ask me that.”

  “Pro: You get to make a new friend too.”

  She doesn’t even know how much I need that.

  “Con: I have to be at work in an hour.”

  “Pro: It’s going to be really, really fun.”

  Con: I’ve seen Porter naked.

  Con: You’re not supposed to hang out with your one-night stand and his daughter.

  Con: He’s the exact type of guy I could fall for if I ever let myself fall.

  “Con: I’m all out of cons.”

  Kyrie lets out a loud giggle. “Then I win. You’re shopping!”

  I look at her. Her eyes are wide and hopeful, and she takes an extra-long blink, giving her best puppy dog eyes.

  I slide my own eyes to Porter, and he’s doing the same.

  For her, he mouths. He makes a show of holding his hands out, then tucking them into his jeans, like he’s trying to tell me that’s where they’ll stay.

  “All right, let’s shop.”

  It’s brief, but the look in Porter’s eyes is unmistakable.

  Excitement.

  * * *

  Saying goodbye to Kyrie and Porter earlier tonight hurt more than I thought it would considering I barely know them.

  But in that hour we spent together, meandering through the store…I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard before.

  Kyrie is so creative and smart, full of life and laughter. I liked her straight away.

  And Porter? God. He’s patient and lets his daughter do her own thing with that perfect balance of authority and freedom.

  But my favorite thing was seeing him in that damn tiara.

  Not once did he take it off. Not when older women scowled at him. Not when the attractive ladies walked by. He was so in the zone, so absorbed in his daughter and making her happy that he didn’t give a flying shit what anyone thought of him.

  I liked him more in that moment than I did when I was tangled up with him in bed.

  “Dory, can you watch the front? I gotta head to the back for a bit.”

  I glance back at the shift manager. “Sure thing, Tim.”

  With a sigh, I grab the box I was unloading and take it with me behind the counter, making a note to finish stocking the shelf before the end of the night. It’s not completely empty, but it could use a little padding. Make the place look a little less sad.

  Which is basically what my life is: sad.

  That’s what I get for not thinking ahead before uprooting my entire life. I had to take whatever came to me, and what came was a part-time job at a gas station in a neighboring town.

  It’s not glamorous, but it helps keep the lights on.

  I spy a few empty slots of cigarettes that can be filled and grab the cartons, tearing them open and stocking away.

  I’m so lost in thought I don’t even hear the bell above the door chime.

  “Come work for me.”

  My
hands falter when I hear his voice, but I recover quickly.

  “No.”

  “I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

  Of course he’s not. My bet is he’s not used to people telling him no. I have no idea what Porter does for a living, but it’s clear he’s a powerful man, always the one in charge.

  I’ve never been one to automatically submit to authority.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I’m not.”

  I sigh, banging my head against the display. “What are you doing here, Porter?”

  “Offering you a job.”

  “You’re demanding I work for you.”

  “Fine. Then will you please come work for me?”

  “No.”

  He sighs. “Okay, I tried the nice way. You’re coming to work for me.”

  I laugh wryly, turning around to face him.

  He’s changed since I last saw him. Gone is his nerdy shirt, in its place a navy waffle-knit Henley, the fit tight and the sleeves pulled up, forearms on display. And instead of jeans clinging to his thick thighs, he’s wearing a pair of dark gray sweats.

  Of course he’d come here wearing that.

  I drag my eyes away from his body, cutting him with my stare. “You can’t just revert back to demanding because you don’t like my answer.”

  “I can when your answer makes no sense.”

  “I think we both know it makes all the sense in the world.”

  “We’re adults. We don’t have to let our…transgression make this awkward. We don’t have to let this ruin your future.”

  Transgression? Our transgression?

  Like what we did was wrong.

  Sinful. Dirty.

  It wasn’t any of those things to me.

  But maybe it was to him. Maybe I’ve blown this way out of proportion.

  We agreed before to not make a big deal out of this, and here I am doing just that.

  Sex is just sex.

  Why am I making it into more?

  I fold my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here?”

  I’m repeating myself, but he understands what I’m asking.

  Why did you drive to another town?

  “I’m here because Kyrie wouldn’t stop talking about you after you left. She barely even ate her dinner because I couldn’t get her to stop bouncing off the walls about her new friend.”