Daddy's little good bad boy
“Yeah, a classic too, Wuthering Heights.”
He launches into a spiel about this great novel I have no idea about but love to hear him talk about.
“Read it to me, will you?”
He looks up at me, an expression in his eyes that I cannot decipher, and he leans in and kisses my forehead. My heart spikes from the slight contact. Then he sits in the soft chair, opposite me, our legs entwined, and then he starts to read.
Surprisingly, I am drawn to the story, maybe because of the animated way he reads, or the way he glances at me to make sure I understand him, the excitement in his voice when he reaches his favorite quotes.