Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Beat absorbed every word of that—and he couldn’t help applying it to himself. The pattern of behavior he’d adopted at sixteen was no longer right for him, was it? No. Refusing to let anyone in was hurting his relationships now, including the most important one. His relationship with Melody. Could he stop feeling guilty for having so many advantages? That change seemed huge and impossible, but for the first time, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to stop punishing himself, to let himself open up and trust those closest to him—especially Melody—and he was surprised to find that his step felt momentarily lighter.
Had he reached a turning point?
Melody coming into his life was causing him to question everything. As her presence would probably do for any man worth a damn. But she deserved so much more than any man. She deserved the best. And he was nowhere near the best. Could he get there, though?
“What about you?” Melody asked, reaching for his hand to step over a patch of ice. He took it, helped her over the frozen puddle, and kept it securely in his, because holding her hand made breathing easier. “I think you’d be a really good dad.”
“Do you?”
Melody nodded. “Kids just want to feel safe and . . .” She shrugged. “When you’re around, it feels like nothing can go wrong. Or if something does go wrong, you’ll be the one to help fix it.” He desperately wanted her to look at him after she gave him that incredible compliment, but she didn’t. “You have serious dad energy.”
“And here I thought I was exuding serious daddy energy.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ve got that, too.” They stopped at the edge of the park, watching their friends rush to the denser banks of white to begin shaping snowballs. “The question is, will it prevent you from getting crushed in this snowball fight?” Melody snorted. “Doubt it.”
That startled a cough out of Beat. “Are you trash-talking me, Gallard?”
“It’s your fault for coaching me to my first bocce victory,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Now I’ve got an ugly competitive streak.”
“Serious jock energy?”
Her laugh sounded incredible, like a warm bite of sound absorbed by the falling snow. “As soon as spring hits, I’ll be challenging little kids to races in this park. Tripping them before the finish line. I’m going to be out of control.”
“I’ll stage the intervention.”
“See?” Slowly, she let their fingers disconnect, walking backward into the park. “You’re such a Fixer Daddy.” To his amusement, she shot at him with finger guns. “And you’re going down, baby.”
Beat followed Melody, trying not to let it show how much he enjoyed her calling him baby. “What are the stakes of this snowball fight? Is there a prize?”
“Yes. If you win, I’ll have a T-shirt made that says serious jock energy and wear it to dinner at your mother’s house. And if I win—”
“Let me guess. I wear a serious daddy energy shirt to dinner?”
Her smile spread in response. She knelt down and started crafting snow into balls.
Beat was pretty sure he was smiling, too—like a lovestruck teenager. There was nothing he could do to wipe the expression off his face, though. He was enjoying himself too much. A snowball fight with Melody? He didn’t care who won. The fact that they were together was enough. Together with plans to see each other again in the future at his mother’s house for Italian. Or French. What the hell else could he ask for?
All of her, that’s what.
That meant being honest, though. That would mean total trust.
“Okay!” Vance piped up, trudging through the ankle-deep snow to a space in between the two groups. “We need an impartial judge to declare the winner. And as I was on the debate team in high school, I think that qualifies me to sit back and determine the champion.”
“Are you serious?” Beat shouted. “You organize this snowball fight and then sit out? No way. Not happening. Melody should be the judge.”
“You just don’t want her getting hit with snowballs,” Vance accused.
“Correct.”
There was a loud chorus of sighs from all the women present.
A snowball unexpectedly clocked Beat in the side of the head.
To his utter disbelief, it was Melody who’d thrown it.
“What’s wrong, Dawkins?” She pursed her lips. “You scared of me?”
It was an image Beat would remember vividly decades from now. Melody with snow melting in her hair, cheeks rosy from the cold, the streetlamp making her eyes luminous, expression taunting and tipsy and playful. He hated spending money on frivolous luxuries, but he would be commissioning a painting of Melody in that moment. Needing to capture it somehow in the meantime, he took out his phone and snapped a quick picture.
“I’ll be the judge!” someone volunteered behind him, their steps crunching in the snow as they got out of harm’s way.