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"Imagine how I feel," I joked. "Does it bother you that I'm an old man?"
She ran a hand through my hair. "You're just thirty-five, not that old. Though, you have some gray hairs now." She touched my sideburns that had silver in them.
"I do. My father got them early as well." I loved her hands on me, couldn’t remember the last time anything had felt this fucking good.
"And some wrinkles." She touched the skin around my eyes. "Still, you're the most handsome man, no matter where we are, and I can't look away."
I held her hand to my cheek, and drew it to my mouth. I kissed it gently.
"Tell me about Yasmine," I asked.
"Why?"
"She was important to you, and I never had the chance to meet her. She's Flora's mother. I'd like to get to know Yas."
"She had a wicked sense of humor and this amazing optimism," she began.
Chapter 23
Isha
When I became a partner at a physiotherapy clinic, I'd wanted to earn more so Flora and I could have a home and the basic luxuries. It had been a year since, and making good money was nice; the brutal working hours, not so much.
When I was with the hospital, I saw patients at work, and that was that. Now, I had to go around New York three days a week to meet patients in their homes. I liked that part, but it also meant longer workdays. I took paperwork home and worked at night after Flora went to bed.
Fridays and Mondays I worked from the clinic close to home, which made my life a lot easier. At the clinic, it was eight to five, and then I was supposedly free. But as a business owner, I had so many responsibilities that I had to work twelve hours days and some weekends to keep afloat. The rest of the week, my schedule was splintered around when my patients were available and, since I worked with kids, it was usually after school.
Mick helped a lot with Flora, and so did Arturo, whose schedule as a doctor was busier than mine.
Rowan called as I was looking at my budget, trying to see how I could keep everything above water and still go back to working at the hospital, at least until Flora was older.
Since our date at the botanical gardens, Rowan called every evening after he knew Flora was in bed.
"Hey, how was your day?" he asked, and I heard the clink of a glass. He was probably sitting on his porch in Montana, having a drink. I could almost visualize him. A part of me missed those wide-open spaces. It had been so beautiful and breathtaking, and yet I couldn't get myself to even go on holiday. Some hurts ran deep.
"Busy. You?"
"We're having some trouble with water pipelines, so I spent a lot of time working on that today. We start vaccinations tomorrow, so that's its own version of hell. I may not be able to call you. We'll be riding, and the cell signal ain't great on the range."
"You sound tired."
"It's been a right bastard of a day. But I'm on my porch; it's quiet. I have you with me, and a good glass of Scotch."
"Flora talked about you today because she was reading the book you gave her," I told him, not sure why I felt the need to let him know my daughter was just as smitten with him as I was—as I had been, and probably always would be.
"Yeah? I was wondering if maybe we can have dinner together, you, me, and Flora, this Saturday."
"You're coming to New York again?"
"We have a date every Sunday, baby, so hell yeah."
My throat closed.
"You can't come back every week."
"Sure, I can. It's just a three-hour or so flight if I charter a plane. Plenty of direct commercial flights."
I didn't know what to say. It was a major commitment he was making.
