Nodding, Cillian heads straight for the balcony. I lag behind to fish out a navy-blue t-shirt with a round neckline. Then I walk over to Esme and pull back the covers long enough to slip the t-shirt on her.
She mumbles in her sleep before turning on her side, a sigh emanating from her slightly parted lips.
My hand reaches out before I can stop it and my fingers trail over her perfect lips. I let myself stare at her for another minute before tearing myself away.
I head out to the balcony where Cillian is waiting for me. It’s only big enough to accommodate the two fold-out chairs and the tiny round table that sits between them.
“I don’t bite,” Cillian says, patting the empty seat. “Much.”
“That’s the lamest dad joke I’ve ever heard.”
“How long ‘til you start cracking those?” he asks.
