Irresistible Nights by Kaylee Monroe

Chapter Nineteen

Marcie

“I genuinely do not see a difference between these two shades of gray,” Denton said as I looked between the two paint swatches on the otherwise blank white wall.

“That one has a little more blue in it, see?” I pointed to the one on the left. “And the one on the right is a little closer to a true gray.”

Little sample pots of paint sat arranged in an orderly row in front of us, ready to be applied to the wall so we could pick a color for the baby’s room. We had lots of time to start working on it, but both of us were too excited to wait.

Denton scratched his stubbled chin. I reached over and pet the dark whiskers, shot through with little strands of gray. I wondered if he had ever grown a beard. The scruff itself made him look sexier than hell.

“Maybe we could hold off until we find out what gender the baby is,” he suggested. He bent down and picked up another pot of paint, this one a sunny yellow. He unscrewed the top and dabbed at the bright liquid with a foam brush.

“I’m not sure I want to find out first.” I grabbed another pot, this one a soft minty green. “I thought maybe the surprise would be worth it.”

“You don’t think it would drive you crazy not to know?” he asked.

He stepped closer to the wall and painted a neat square of the bright yellow. It reminded me of daffodils or a yellow duckling. Something warm bloomed in my chest at the thought of our baby, sleeping peacefully in a cute duckling-themed bedroom.

“No,” I said. “I like the idea of finding out when the baby is born.” I leaned forward and dabbed a spot of pale green next to the yellow. “What do you think?”

Denton turned to me and smiled. He was so handsome that it made my heart ache, even unshaven and wearing old jeans and a worn University of Minnesota t-shirt. The soft fabric clung to his round muscles, defined and strong. The same muscles that flexed and bunched under my fingertips this morning. I itched to feel them again.

Before he could answer my question, a soft knock sounded from the foyer downstairs.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” I said when he flashed me a confused expression. “All my stuff has been delivered.”

“I’ll check on it, then.” He screwed the lid back on the little pot of paint and strode out of the room while I leaned forward to fill in a little more of the pale green swatch.

“Marcie?” Denton called. “Can you come down here?”

His voice sounded a little strained, and my belly tightened with nervousness. Please, God, not more needless drama. I set the paint on the floor and hurried down the stairs, two at a time.

On the other side of the door, hair dampened from the Seattle rain, stood my dad. I skidded to a halt at the base of the stairs and eyed him cautiously. He looked tired and sad. In one hand, he held a big gift bag, with brightly colored tissue paper poking up out of the top.

“Daddy,” I said nervously. “Is everything…I mean, are you okay?”

“Why are you here, Clive?” Denton said bluntly, folding his arms over his chest.

Dad winced visibly at Denton’s harsh tone, and I stepped forward to push Denton to the side, knowing he was just being a protective papa bear.

“Come inside, Daddy,” I said gently. “You’re all wet.”

“I brought you this,” he said as he crossed the threshold. He held out the gift bag, his fingers shaking slightly. “It’s for the baby.”

I swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in my throat as I accepted the bag. It was heavy and shockingly full. “Let’s go to the living room and see what you brought.”

An awkward silence descended as we filed into the living room and sat down. As he sank down next to me, Denton grabbed my hand and held it tightly, his fingers warm and comforting, like an anchor against the terrible anxiety that he must have known churned in my belly.

Dad looked down at his feet, then sat up to look straight at me. I was shocked to see tears lining his bright green eyes, the exact color of mine.

“I’m so sorry, pumpkin,” he said, his voice shaking. “For how I treated you. Both of you.”

I stared in shock. “You’re…sorry?”

He nodded. “Denton came to see me—”

“Wait, Denton came to see you?” I parroted, as I twisted and looked over at Denton, who merely shrugged. “Are you serious? When did this happen?”

“Last night,” Denton said carefully. “After you fell asleep. I was going to tell you about it a little later, but I thought you needed a little more time.”

“Don’t be annoyed with him,” my dad interrupted. “He and I needed to have a conversation between the two of us. And he was…he was right about some things.”

I sighed. “What things?”

Dad pushed his thick hair away from his face. “I treated you like you did something wrong. Something dirty. But really, I was mad at Denton and I don’t like the age difference. And that’s on me, not you.”

A tear welled up in my eye and I brushed it away. “Are you still angry with me?”

He shook his head, and I saw that his own eyes were reddening. “No, absolutely not. I might need some time. But I’m not angry with you. And I…”

His face crumpled as his words trailed off, and he sucked in a breath to steel himself. “I want to be in the baby’s life. I want to be a grandfather. You’re going to be a wonderful mother. As good as your mom. Better, even.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks and a sob escaped me as I thought about my own mother. “I miss her so much. I need you to help me with this. I can’t do without you.”

On shaky legs, I stood and took two steps toward my dad, but he didn’t let me get far before he rose to his feet and wrapped me in his big, comforting arms. Dad was tall—almost as tall as Denton—and I felt enveloped and safe in his embrace. I breathed in the smell of his soap and aftershave and cried harder into his shoulder. From behind me, I heard Denton’s footsteps thud against the wooden floor as he rose from the couch and walked towards us.

Dad released me and turned to Denton. They slapped each other on the back, expressions wary, but drained of anger. A truce had been reached. Finally.

“You’re a great dad, Clive,” Denton said. “The best. I’m glad you’ll be there for the baby.”

“Honestly, I can’t wait to see your old ass chase a teenager around when you’re sixty-five,” Dad said with a smirk. “I can’t imagine starting over with a brand-new baby at our age.”

Denton grabbed my hand and pulled me in close to wind an arm around me. “I have a feeling this one will keep me young.”

I beamed up at both of them through tear-fogged eyes. The two most important men in my life.

“I love you both,” I said. “My family.”

* * *

“I love it.” Keisha took a step forward and ran her hands along the velvet couch. “It’s better than I pictured.”

She turned to me and threw her arms around me—a little harder these days, with my growing baby bump, but if I had learned anything about Keisha Blackwell since she partnered with my store, she was a hugger, and she was going to make it work.

“I love it, too,” I said as Keisha released me, still smiling broadly. “I’m so happy with how this all turned out.”

Not long after Denton and I came clean with my dad, Keisha told me that she wanted to move forward with our partnership. We leased the empty space next door to my store, did some fast renovations—with a little logistical help from Denton, who was fantastic at overseeing these types of projects—and four months later, we were just a few hours away from the grand opening reception for Keisha Blackwell Bridal at The Blind Hem.

Buzz built fast. We weren’t even open yet, and bridal appointments were already booked two months out.

“Marcie, go sit,” Keisha said, gesturing at the couch. “You’ve been on your feet for, like, five months. Rest your pregnant ass and let Kresley and Frankie run around for a few minutes.”

I flopped into the soft couch with a sigh of relief. “Not gonna argue with you. They’ve got it under control.”

Keisha nodded, flipping her long, purple-threaded braids over her shoulder. “They do. And if a catastrophe goes down today, we already can’t do anything about it,” she said with a shrug.

I sat back and enjoyed my short break while Keisha fussed over the mannequins, adjusting garments and accessories. I was about to stand up again and get back to work when a knock sounded on the glass door. I turned and saw Denton and my dad standing outside in the cold, both dressed in sharply tailored suits.

I hurried over to unlock the doors and let them in before locking the door behind them until it was time to open. Dad buried me in a big hug as soon as he stepped inside, holding on until Denton elbowed him aside to sweep me into his arms.

“You don’t have to fight over me,” I said in Denton’s ear as he pulled me close. “Plenty of me to go around.”

“Oh, please.” Dad crossed his arms and smiled at me. “Everybody will want to talk to you when this party gets started, and we’ll have to stand in the corner like a pair of dipshits.”

Dad and Denton’s relationship took time to heal. They still worked together, but for a few months, things remained distant and strained, but for my sake, they were polite and civil. But with my dad’s visits, video chats and our growing excitement for the baby, the two of them were firm friends again.

I was thrilled.

Denton reached down and brushed his big palm against my growing belly. I wore one of Keisha’s designs tonight, a loose hot pink dress that skimmed my growing curves and reached mid-thigh. I swept my dark hair into a knot high atop my head and accessorized with big, dangly earrings and dramatic eye makeup.

“You look incredible, my love,” he said, and dropped a gentle kiss on my lips, mindful of my lipstick. “Good enough to eat.”

My dad rolled his eyes at our PDA. “I’ll go see if anybody needs any help.”

Denton slid an arm around me and pulled me close as we watched my dad walk over to Frankie, who immediately dragged him into the back to put him to work.

“You did it, Marcie,” Denton said in my ear as we looked around my colorful, glittering boutique. “Now you’ve got it all.”

I sighed happily. “I do. It’s hard to believe.”

I placed a hand on top of his, where it rested on my rounded tummy. I felt a tiny flutter deep inside. A kick. We felt the first ones a week ago, and since then, Denton had been trying constantly to feel them again, but no luck just yet.

“Did you feel that?” I asked, grinning at him.

Denton looked down at me and smiled. “I did.”

I leaned my head against his sturdy shoulder. “That’s your baby.”

“That’s my baby,” he repeated softly. He stroked his hand against my stomach and once again, we felt the tiny life that we made together wiggle in my belly.

“And this?” I said, indicating all the people we cared for the most gathered in my store. “This is our family.”