Handsome Dad Quotes

My kids are starting to notice I'm a little different from the other dads. "Why don't you have a straight job like everyone else?" they asked me the other day. I told them this story: In the forest, there was a crooked tree and a straight tree. Every day, the straight tree would say to the crooked tree, "Look at me...I'm tall, and I'm straight, and I'm handsome. Look at you...you're all crooked and bent over. No one wants to look at you." And they grew up in that forest together. And then one day the loggers came, and they saw the crooked tree and the straight tree, and they said, "Just cut the straight trees and leave the rest." So the loggers turned all the straight trees into lumber and toothpicks and paper. And the crooked tree is still there, growing stronger and stranger every day.

I look at the field, and I think about the boy who just made the touchdown. I think that these are the glory days for that boy, and this moment will just be another story someday because all the people who make touchdowns and home runs will become somebody's dad. And when his children look at his yearbook photograph, they will think that their dad was rugged and handsome and looked a lot happier than they are. I just hope I remember to tell my kids that they are as happy as I look in my old photographs. And I hope that they believe me.

Nah, Dad, I'm good. Please leave me in this hotel bedroom with my handsome boyfriend. And several of his relatives, and a very sharp weapon." "Clearly I went badly wrong somewhere when raising you," said Dad. "Well, best to do down before Tomo gets into the vodka.

Well, my dads are always saying I’m the handsome one in the family, but it’s always nice to hear a girl say it, too. Especially if she’s under fifty.

Don’t tell me you aren’t even a little glad to see me, Mother,” Sebastian said, and though his words were pleading, his voice was flat. “Aren’t I everything you could want in a son?” He spread his arms wide. “Strong, handsome, looks just like dear old Dad.

What is the connection between you and our handsome host? Aunt B asked. Blackberries taste much worse when they try to come back up your throat. "Uhhh..." "Uhhh is not an answer," Keira informed me. Andre must not have told her about Hugh, and I had no desire to explain who my dad was. "We never met but we were trained by the same person. Now he works for a very powerful man who will kill me if he finds me." "Why?" Keira asked. "It's a family thing." "That explains the attraction," Aunt B said. "Attraction?" "You're that thing he can't have. It's called forbidden fruit." "I'm not his fruit!" "He thinks you are. The word you're looking for is "smitten," my dear." Aunt B smiled. "I'm sure the way Megobari looked at you made Curran positively giddy.

Are you sure this is okay?” he asks. “I mean, did your dad really invite the handsome stranger who’s dating his daughter to sleep on the couch?” “I like how you added in the ‘handsome.

Every person is attractive to somebody. You are. I am. Jim Bob over there is, too. Every person is probably ugly to somebody, too. You are. I am. Jim Bob over there is, too. Don’t take it personally. And, we all need to do ourselves a favor. We need to believe people when they tell us we’re beautiful, handsome, sexy, attractive, hot, or hunkalicious, especially when that someone is somebody that we think is beautiful, handsome, sexy, attractive, hot, or babealicious. Because you know what? They probably really think so. They probably aren’t lying. They probably don’t give a damn that you don’t look like Pamela Anderson.

Mom and Dad sleep soundly atop the white cushion, her in his lap and their legs tangled together. His handsome profile is scruffy, his nose buried in her long, pinkish blond hair. The strands twitch, alive with magic. Her gauzy wings are folded behind her like a butterfly’s at rest. They look so lovely together, the White knight and his fairy bride, in one another’s arms at last. In spite of all they went through to reach this place, their love never faltered. They deserve this more than anyone I know.

Still, you can’t deny that, like goldfish and gummies, The Little Mermaid is fucking magical. I still feel sparkles in my stomach when I watch it. Despite Ariel wearing an ocean bra for most of that movie, and despite the fact that a man ultimately saves her from an evil plus-sized sea witch, and despite Ariel ditching her entire family for this man just because he’s a handsome prince, I gave in and showed The Little Mermaid to Mari on repeat. Those songs are also the shit. I’m a sucker for a drunk seagull best friend and since this is a safe space free of judgment: Ariel’s dad is kinda hot? I still find my feelings about King Triton confusing. He looks like Santa with abs and a tail.

Resisting Nate Pearson, handsome playboy, was one thing. Resisting Nate Pearson, handsome single dad, was quite another. I wasn’t sure I was up to the task.

I wasn't the most handsome man, but it was like my dad told me once: if you got born deficient downstairs, you'd better get good using your tongue. It took me years before I got the nuance of that—not that anything was lacking.

Still, this moment belongs to the two of them, Mom and this handsome stranger. He reaches the passenger side door and stares down at her with steely violet eyes-down at my mother who never cries, down at my mother who’s now bawling like a spanked child-his face contorted in a rainbow of so many emotions, some that I can’t even name. Then Grom the Triton king sinks to his knees in front of her, and a single tear spills down his face. “Nalia,” he whispers. And then my mother slaps him. It’s not the kind of slap you get for talking back. It’s not the kind of punch she dealt Galen and Toraf in our kitchen. It’s the kind of slap a woman gives a man when he’s hurt her deeply. And Grom accepts it with grace. “I looked for you,” she shouts, even though he’s inches from her. Slowly, as if in a show of peace, he takes the hand that slapped him and sandwiches it between his own. He seems to revel in the feel of her touch. His face is pure tenderness, his voice like a massage to the nerves. “And I looked for you.” “Your pulse was gone,” she insists. By now she chokes back sobs between words. She’s fighting for control. I’ve never seen my mother fight for control. “As was yours.” I realize Grom knows what not to say, what not to do to provoke her. He is the complete opposite of her, or maybe just a completion of her. Her eyes focus on his wrist, and tears slip down her face, leaving faint trails of mascara on her cheeks. He smiles and slowly pulls his hand away. I think he’s going to show her the bracelet he’s wearing, but instead he rips it off his wrist and holds it out for her inspection. From where I’m standing it looks like a single black ball tied to some sort of string. By my mom’s expression, this black ball has meaning. So much meaning that I think she’s forgotten to breathe. “My pearl,” she whispers. “I thought I’d lost it.” He encloses it in her hand. “This isn’t your pearl, love. That one was lost in the explosion with you. For almost an entire season, I scoured the oyster beds, looking for another one that would do. I don’t know why, but I thought maybe if I found another perfect pearl, I would somehow find you, too. When I found this though, it didn’t bring me the peace I’d hoped for. But I couldn’t bring myself to discard it. I’ve worn it on my wrist ever since.” This is all it takes for my mom to throw herself into his arms, bringing Rachel partially with her. Even so, it’s probably the most moving moment I’ve ever encountered in my eighteen years. Or at least it would be, if my mom weren’t clinging to a man who is not my dad.

Freddie couldn’t help himself sometimes. His dad was just so fucking perfect. Or at least that was the overriding narrative. Amazing Tom Fitzwilliam. Isn’t he handsome? Isn’t he clever? Isn’t he charming? Isn’t he tall? Hasn’t he got an enormously huge dick? Well, no one had ever actually said that, but he did. Freddie had seen it.

Kurt Michaels was smart, charming, and handsome. He told dad jokes and wore sexy cardigans and hot nerd glasses. Total dad material. Unlike some others who were just “daddy” material.

The narrator, thirteen-year-old Lizzie, is so close to her best friend, Evie Verver, that she even feels at times like they share a skin, and the enchantment of the Verver family is a spell she is sure will never break. All her ideas of life come from her time with them, in particular the warm glow Mr. Verver, Evie’s handsome dad, casts on the family, the home. Without even realizing all this (really, until just now), all my feelings of Meg and her family flooded the book, and how could they not? These early relationships, the way we think they will stay the same forever (we need to believe they will)—they matter. They form us. And, when they fall apart, we have to do the hard work of building ourselves back up all on our own.

All elves were jaw-droppingly gorgeous, but there was something particularly handsome about Keefe Sencen—and the boy was well aware of it. Though he seemed a little off his game at the moment. His smug smirk was noticeably absent as he scrounged around his blankets, searching for something. “Here,” Ro said, tossing Keefe a wrinkled black tunic from the floor. “Bet you’re wishing it didn’t smell so much like sweaty boy in here, huh?” “It’s fine,” Sophie promised, even if the room could definitely use some airing out. A good cleaning would work wonders too. Everywhere she looked were piles of crumpled clothes and scattered shoes and stacks of papers and plates of half-eaten food. And all the thick curtains were drawn tight, leaving the space dim and stuffy. The room was clearly designed to be beautiful, with marble floors broken up by rugs woven to look like pristine sand, and seafoam walls inlaid with starfish and anemone shells. But under Keefe’s care, it was a disaster zone. Even the furniture had a strange randomness to the arrangement that made Sophie wonder if he’d moved it all just to bug his dad.

My friend’s mum said he’s very handsome. He’s quite old.” A regretful addendum. “But I think he is handsome. It’s a pity you’re Uncle Nick’s cake, or maybe you could be my dad’s girlfriend.

Her prediction had gotten stuck halfway out of the machine. So Dad steps up to save the day. he manages to rip the top half of the ticket out, but the rest is still stuck in the machine, so Mom can't make sense of the words. So then he told her she'd better stick around and see if her fortune came out with his." "Oh, that old line," Gus said, grinning. "Works every time," I agreed. "Anyway, he put in his nickel and the two tickets came out. Hers said, You will meet a handsome stranger, and his said, Your story's about to begin.

I look at the field, and I think about the boy who just made the touchdown. I think that these are the glory days for that boy, and this moment will just be another story someday because all the people who make touchdowns and home runs will become somebody's dad. And when his children look at his yearbook photograph, they will think that their dad was rugged and handsome and looked a lot happier than they are. I just hope I remember to tell my kids that they are as happy as I look in my old photographs. And I hope that they believe me

I look at the field, and I think about the boy who just made the touchdown. I think that these are the glory days for that boy, and this moment will just be another story someday because all the people who make touchdowns and home runs will become somebody's dad. And when his children look at his yearbook photograph, they will think that their dad was rugged and handsome and looked a lot happier than they are. I just hope I remember to tell my kids that they are as happy as I look in my old photographs. And I hope that they believe me.

I think about all this sometimes when I’m watching a football game with Patrick and Sam. I look at the field, and I think about the boy who just made the touchdown. I think that these are the glory days for that boy, and this moment will just be another story someday because all the people who make touchdowns and home runs will become somebody’s dad. And when his children look at his yearbook photograph, they will think that their dad was rugged and handsome and looked a lot happier than they are. I just hope I remember to tell my kids that they are as happy as I look in my old photographs. And I hope that they believe me.

I’m walking off the dance floor when I see him. Peter, in a suit, standing to the side, beside the dogwood tree. He looks so handsome I can hardly stand it. I cross the backyard, and he watches me the whole time. My heart is pounding so hard. Is he here for me? Or did he just come because he promised my dad? When I’m standing in front of him, I say, “You came.” Peter looks away. “Of course I came.” Softly I say, “I wish I could take back the things I said the other night. I don’t even remember all of them.” Looking down, he says, “But you meant them, right? So it’s a good thing you said them then, because somebody had to and you were right.” “Which part?” I whisper. “About UNC. About me not transferring there.” He lifts his head, his eyes wounded. “But you should have told me my mom talked to you.” I take a shaky breath. “You should have told me you were thinking about transferring! You should’ve told me how you were feeling, period. You shut down after graduation; you wouldn’t let me in. You kept saying everything was going to be fine.” “Because I was fucking scared, okay!” he bursts out. He looks around to see if anyone heard, but the music is loud, and everyone is dancing; no one is looking at us, and it’s like we are alone here in this backyard. “What were you so scared about?” I whisper. His hands tighten into fists at his sides. When he finally speaks, his voice comes out raw, like he hasn’t used it in a while. “I was scared that you were going to go to UNC and you were gonna figure out I wasn’t worth it, and you were going to leave.

I didn’t know my dad in person and I never got to say goodbye to him at his funeral and I thought it would be nice to say a few words now that I sort of feel I know him a bit better.’ She gave a nervous smile, and pushed a strand of hair from her face. ‘So. Will … Dad. When I first found out you were my real father, I’ll be honest, I was a bit freaked out. I’d hoped my real dad was going to be this wise, handsome man, who would want to teach me stuff and protect me and take me on trips to show me amazing places that he loved. And what I actually got was an angry man in a wheelchair who just, you know, killed himself. But because of Lou, and your family, over the last few months I’ve come to understand you a bit better. ‘I’ll always be sad and maybe even a bit angry that I never got to meet you, but now I want to say thank you too. “. You gave me a lot, without knowing it. I think I’m like you in good ways – and probably a few not-so-good ways. You gave me blue eyes and my hair colour and the fact that I think Marmite is revolting and the ability to do black ski runs and … Well, apparently you also gave me a certain amount of moodiness – that’s other people’s opinion, by the way. Not mine.’ ‘But mostly you gave me a family I didn’t know I had. And that’s cool. Because, to be honest, it wasn’t going that well before they all turned up.’ Her smile wavered. ‘ So, um, Will … Dad, I’m not going to go on and on because speeches are boring and also that baby is going to start wailing any minute, which will totally harsh the mood. But I just wanted to say thank you, from your daughter, and that I … love you and I’ll always miss you, and I hope if you’re looking down, and you can see me, you’re glad. That I exist. Because me being here sort of means you’re still here, doesn’t it?’ Lily’s voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears. Her gaze slid towards Camilla, who gave a small nod.

Right around that time, I started dating a guy named Jeff. He was a classically handsome, popular guy. But there was something different about him too. He was angrier than most teenage boys, and a little misunderstood. I ignored the signs that he was probably a bit unstable. Signs like when they gave him a fish fillet at McDonald’s instead of a Big Mac, he became so furious that he cried. Truly lost it. Real tears of rage. Like the kind of tears guys are only supposed to get when they watch a movie that touches on their dad issues. (So, most movies.) Isn’t it funny that they say most girls have daddy issues, when really, every dude does? But this dude had daddy, mommy, doggy, and fish fillet issues. I just thought, Well, he can’t help it. But I understand him. I’m here for him. Even though we were both generally well liked, when we were together it was us vs. the world. I’ve only recently broken my pattern of being drawn to the “you’re the only one who gets me” guy. Which is a bad guy to be drawn to, and it’s not a coincidence if everyone—including all your friends and family and your dog—dislikes him. But

My parents didn't settle for the lives their parents lived. They stepped out and up, my father lying his way into the Navy when he was too young to enlist, my mother marrying this fugitive from the mills when she was too young for marriage. A smart guy, he took every course the Navy offered, aced them all, becoming the youngest chief warrant officer in the service. After Pearl Harbor the Navy needed line officers fast and my dad was suddenly wearing gold stripes. My mother watched and learned, getting good at the ways of this new world. She dressed beautifully. Our quarters were always handsomely fitted out. She and Dad were gracious, well-spoken. They were far from rich, but there were books and there was music and sometimes conversations about the world. We even listened to the Metropolitan Opera broadcasts on Saturdays. Still, when I finished high school, their attitudes and the times said that there was little point in further educating a girl. I would take a clerical job until I could find the right junior officer to marry and pursue his career, as helpmeet. If I picked well and worked hard, I might someday be an admiral's wife.

Richie Royal, age 15, is an up-and-coming young teen idol in China who has a hit record and many endorsements. He is considered the ideal idol for many young people in China as he is handsome, talented, comes from a good family, and smart. Born in the United States of America and went to school in Arcadia, California until he was 10 years old. He and his family relocated to China and established one of the largest beauty and fashion companies in Asia. “Okay!” I said. “I should be excited to see an actual teen idol here, but I’m not,” I said, looking at Mom, Dad, Auntabelle and Trent. “I don’t know how long this traffic jam is going to be, but we have to make it to Grandpa’s house before the birthday, don’t we, Dad?” - Amazon Lee Adventures in China by Kira G. and Kailin Gow

A story of a princess named Ella, trapped at the top of a tower guarded by a dragon, forever gazing up at the stars and wishing she was free. And of handsome, charming princes in shining armor coming to her rescue but never succeeding. Never defeating the giant, fire-breathing dragon. And so the princess stayed in the tower, and I always wondered when the right prince would finally arrive to save her. I loved imagining that my life was a fairy tale. That I was really a princess, and my dad would ride in on his majestic horse to save me. That was before I grew up and found out about boys. My dad never did tell me the ending to that bedtime story. I asked him if the princess would be trapped in that tower forever, always waiting. He never gave me a straight answer, though, saying I had to figure out the ending for myself.

If I'd known you were available, Dee, and looking for work,I'd've hired you." Burke Logan, settled back in his chair and winked at his wife's cousin. "We like to keep the best on at Royal Meadows." Adelia twinkled at him across the table in the track's dining room. He was as handsome and as dangerous to look at as he'd been nearly twenty years before when she'd first met him. "Oh,I don't know." Bruke trailed a hand over his wife's shoudler. "We have the best bookkeeper around at Three Acres." "In that case,I want a raise." Erin picked up her wine and sent Burke a challenging look. "A big one. Trevor?" Her voice was smooth, shimmering with Ireland as she addressed her son. "Do you have in mind to eat that pork chop or just use it for decoration?" "I'm reading the Racing Form, Ma." "His father's son," Erin muttered and snagged the paper from him. "Eat your dinner." He heaved a sigh as only a twelve-year-old boy could. "I think Topeka in the third, with Lonesome in the fifth and Hennessy in the sixth for the trifecta. Dad says Topeka's generous and a cinch tip." At his wife's long stare, Burke cleared his throat. "Stuff that pork chop in your mouth, Trev.Where's Jean?" "She's fussing with her hair," Mo announced, and snatched a french fry from Travis's plate. "As usual," she added with the worldly air only an older sister could achieve, "the minute she turned fourteen she decided her hair was the bane of her existence. Huh. Like having long, thick, straight-as-a-pin black hair is a problem. This-" she tugged on one of the hundreds of wild red curls that spiraled acround her face. "-is a problem. If you're going to worry about something as stupid as hair, which I don't.Anyway, you guys have to come over and see this weanling I have my eye on.He's going to be amazing.And if Dad lets me train him..." She trailed off, slanting a look at her father across the table. "You'll be in college this time next year," Burke reminded her. "Not if I can help it," Mo said under her breath.

Knowing Chris was getting married, his fellow Team members decided that they had to send him off with a proper SEAL bachelor party. That meant getting him drunk, of course. It also meant writing all over him with permanent markers-an indelible celebration, to be sure. Fortunately, they liked him, so his face wasn’t marked up-not by them, at least; he’d torn his eyebrow and scratched his lip during training. Under his clothes, he looked quite the sight. And the words wouldn’t come off no matter how he, or I scrubbed. I pretended to be horrified, but honestly, that didn’t bother me much. I was just happy to have him with me, and very excited to be spending the rest of my life with the man I loved. It’s funny, the things you get obsessed about. Days before the wedding, I spent forty-five minutes picking out exactly the right shape of lipstick, splurging on expensive cosmetics-then forgot to take it with me the morning of the wedding. My poor sister and mom had to run to Walgreens for a substitute; they came back with five different shades, not one of which matched the one I’d picked out. Did it matter? Not at all, although I still remember the vivid marks the lipstick made when I kissed him on the cheek-marking my man. Lipstick, location, time of day-none of that mattered in the end. What did matter were our families and friends, who came in for the ceremony. Chris liked my parents, and vice versa. I truly loved his mom and dad. I have a photo from that day taped near my work area. My aunt took it. It’s become my favorite picture, an accidental shot that captured us perfectly. We stand together, beaming, with an American flag in the background. Chris is handsome and beaming; I’m beaming at him, practically glowing in my white gown. We look so young, happy, and unworried about what was to come. It’s that courage about facing the unknown, the unshakable confidence that we’d do it together, that makes the picture so precious to me. It’s a quality many wedding photos possess. Most couples struggle to make those visions realities. We would have our struggles as well.

Thanks, Mum,’ she squealed, planting a kiss on her cheek. ‘Right, then.’ Vince cleared his throat, stood up and brushed his palms down his thighs in a final, awkward gesture. Her mum didn’t move; uncomfortable seconds lingered, the same way they always did when her dad was saying goodbye. Poor Mum, thought Claire. Her dad was going back to Jayne, and her mum would be here, lonely. Her dad’s career77 had prospered since meeting Jayne, and he looked more handsome, well-dressed and confident these days. ‘See you on Sunday, Claire. Let me know how Becs gets on, would you, please, Dee?’ Vince walked towards the door. ‘Yes,’ said Dee. ‘Claire will be all ready and waiting in her Sunday best for

Yeah, well it’s true. I did run away and I don’t want my parents to know I’m here. So if you ever see a nosy woman or a nerdy guy hanging around here give me a heads up.” “Come on your dad isn’t that nerdy,” Julie teased before the look on Luke’s face had her backpedaling. “I mean he’s probably handsome. I’m guessing. Just because...he probably looks like you right?

I thought you didn’t like mines in towns,” Ethan said, “I remember you getting cranky about it.”  “I didn’t get cranky,” Mom said, exasperated.  “Yeah,” Ethan said. “You sounded just like that.” Mom pointed to an empty section of the village, “Build the mine right there. And Make it pretty! Please.” “Blech,” Elijah said, “We don’t do pretty.”  “Make it handsome then,” Mom said.  Ethan rolled his eyes. “That sounded an awful lot like a Dad joke.”  “Well, it was a Mom joke, because I said it.

Mum tries smiling at herself in the mirror again and from the lounge I can hear my dad having a solitary coughing fit. How can love look so old and tired? How can you be properly in love if you're thinking about washing machines and paying the electric- ity bills? How can I wander among the great literary lovers, hob nob with Lord Byron and share a steed with John Willoughby, and then suffer the hum drum when I come down to breakfast? Where have my fairy tales gone, Muse? I'm so frightened that this is a world where, when you kiss your handsome prince, he steps out of the magic puff of smoke and he's got socks and sandals on and a dirty t-shirt with a belly under it.

Are we still fake-dating? Or is this… is this real? Because…” Say it. But he beats me to it. “Because this feels real.” “Yeah.” My voice wavers. “Don’t cry, biscuit.” He palms my face, and in the dim light coming from the streetlamp outside the window, I can make out his handsome face through the tears. “Forget all that fake-dating crap. You’re mine, and I’m yours. This is as real as it’s gonna get.” He takes a deep breath. “I know you said you didn’t think you could fall in love, but maybe you could give me a chance. Give us a chance. Because I’m ass-over-head crazy about you.” Hope blooms in my chest. Even though the room is dark, I’m filled with sunlight. “Are you saying… are you saying you love me?” I hold my breath as I wait for his reply. “I love you so fucking much, it freaks me out,” he says softly as he dries my tears. “I love you too.” In between kisses, I laugh. “I didn’t think I had it in me, but you’ve changed everything.” “Well, I could put it in you.” I snort and playfully smack his shoulder. “You horndog.” “Let’s put blame where it belongs. My dick is the horndog. It has a mind of its own. The rest of me is much more evolved.

Ooof.” “Dude, why’d you stop?” “Oh. Damnnn.” I turn around and stare at five zombie football players. Who are actually football players. See, Sienna. I totally could’ve been a teacher tonight! I squint at the guy in the back whose familiar scowl I recognize. “Ben?” He does that thing with his chin that’s supposed to pass for a greeting. I’m really tired of how my brother’s turned into a raging asshole. Our parents would be so disappointed by his lack of manners. “How’s it going, Gabs?” My heart drops at the sound of that voice. Rider Kingston. Of fucking course. Because being on a second date means I have to run into this man. My attention goes straight to those criminally beautiful gray eyes fringed with dark lashes. Even with zombie makeup, the man is ridiculously handsome. I want to punch him in his pretty face.

I turned over to do just that. The “In” track played in the backdrop of my head like a hushed lullaby for minutes long as my mind raced. Then, out of nowhere, I was struck with an onslaught of emotions I had no idea existed. I’d just had a vaginal orgasm. With a man. My husband. A man who was essentially a stranger, because I really didn’t know Ezra. A man that caused me to see and feel so much and so quickly. It was easy falling into a sexual affair with Ezra: he was handsome, compelling, and confident. What woman wouldn’t be taken by those qualities? But I was able to keep a modicum of a barricade of control because I had places within that no one could penetrate without my consent. My shoulders trembled as I tried to unsuccessfully stifle my sobs, because in that instance, I realized Ezra took that, too. It was one thing to impress me with his eloquent articulation and infinite knowledge, but an entirely different matter to infiltrate a deep, private, and vulnerable place within. I felt raw, emotionally. Felt exposed beyond what I could identify. My mother’s mental illness had always hovered over me with gloom. I was predisposed to the same, which is why I didn’t allow myself to feel so much. It’s why I hadn’t cried in years. That shit was for the weak. As my dad would chant, “Alexis is no weakling. She’s a fucking warrior!” It was true. It was what I believed and had to against having a genetic linking to a feeble brain like my mother’s. So, I fought for mental stability, alertness, and protection. Had I just given that to Ezra, a man I technically didn’t know, but was drawn to for some inexplicable reason? I couldn’t have that. My father taught me to always be tough, to fight any force no matter how big or strong. How could I fight what I couldn’t understand or identify? What weapons do you battle intimacy with? “Shhhhhh…” Ezra soothed while rocking me in his hard frame, his touch more gentle than any he ever applied with me. “That type of sensation, and for the first time, can take your mind to low places after having been so high.” How did he know I was battling emotionally, sinking deeper and deeper into self-pity? “Don’t let it take you under, Alexis. Just breathe it off.” Ezra patted my damp hair, with calmative care. “Breathe, baby,” he whispered. Taken by his comfort, I was already halfway into my slumber.

He gives me that sexy smile that makes me melt. “Roxy, you’re the light of my life. You brighten every day, and I never want the sun to set without seeing your beautiful face before I go to sleep. Will you do me the greatest honor and marry me?” He holds out his other hand, and Cam drops a little black box in it. My eyes are saucers as Billy opens it and pulls out a diamond ring that he slides on my finger. “This belonged to my grandmother. She wants you to have it.” I wipe the tear that escapes. “You know this is forever, right?” I whisper. His smile goes soft. “I’m not sure that’s long enough.” I grab his handsome face and kiss him. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” Everyone cheers, and he picks me up in a hug.

Movement catches my attention across the park, and I jerk my head up. It’s him. My heart batters my rib cage as Jake gets closer. The sun sets behind him, and his thick, dark hair blows in the breeze. He’s wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and his letterman jacket. He looks so handsome, and I’ve missed him so much. It takes everything in me not to jump up and run to him. When he reaches me, I smile hesitantly. “Great game today.” The words are barely out of my mouth when he grabs me by the lapels of my coat and yanks me up into a fierce kiss. Everything I’d planned to say to him blows away in the crisp breeze. I toss my arms around his neck and hold on as he threads his fingers in my hair and holds me to him. His tongue battles with mine, but after a minute, he slows down until he’s pressing tender kisses to my lips. “I fucking love you, Charlotte. Please don’t be upset with me anymore.” I open my mouth, but he places a finger over my lips. “Hear me out.” I nod and reluctantly let go of him. We sit side by side on the swings, but he swivels around to face me, and I do the same. He exhales. “I’m sorry for how I reacted when I found out you might be pregnant. I can’t explain why I had an out-of-body experience. I think one of the biggest shocks was hearing it from Dakota instead of you.” “I’m guessing she used the bathroom before I got there?” I ask. Nodding, he reaches over to grab my hand. “She obviously saw them in the trash.” “I just felt really fucking overwhelmed. I thought, ‘I’m stretched so thin as it is with Asher. I never get enough time with him. Every moment with you feels stolen. Some days I’m barely awake in class. Football consumes all of my energy. And I have a mountain of laundry and no time to do it.’” I squeeze his hand. “I get it. I’m sorry you misunderstood. Only one of those tests was mine. The negative one.” I explain the situation with Roxy. She’s given me permission to tell Jake what’s going on with her. “Jesus. I feel dumb.” He lets go of my hand to scrub his face.

Damn, he was handsome. My heart was still fluttering. “It’s fine,” I told myself. “It’s fine that my new next door neighbor is a hot firefighter and single dad with muscles for days and dark, broody eyes. It’s fine, because I am the boss of my feelings.” Slowly, I started walking up the stairs, skimming my palm along the banister and wondering if his abs were as hard and sculpted as his jaw. Then I snatched my fingers off the wood as if it was hot. “I am also the boss of my hands.” I started up the steps again, imagining what it would be like to feel his scruff against my cheek, maybe bite his lower lip. “And my teeth,” I said defiantly. “I’m definitely the boss of my teeth. I will not bite my nice new neighbor.

We walk out of the bathroom, and Mellie grins up at me and hugs my leg, just below my knee. She sits down on my foot, and I take a few steps wearing her like a boot, her clinging to me like Velcro. She thinks it’s hilarious, and the other girls want to take a turn, too. After everyone gets a ride and I make sure they all have snacks, I walk out into the hallway. Emily is standing there, and she looks me up and down and nods. “What?” I ask. “Nothing,” she sings, grinning like a fool. “Say it,” I prompt. She shrugs. But then she looks up into my face. “You’re going to be the best dad ever, Matt,” she says. My heart swells. “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about them turning out like me.” I scratch my belly. “Being this handsome is quite a burden to bear.” She laughs and punches me in the gut. I bend in the middle, clutching my stomach, and that’s when Sky walks around the corner. She looks toward Hayley’s room. “I was just going to check on the girls,” she says. “I just did,” I tell her. Her brow furrows, and she looks so damn pretty that I want to kiss her. “Don’t tell anyone, but Mellie’s pants peed on her,” I whisper dramatically. She turns toward her bag. “Oh, I better get some clothes,” she says. “Already took care of it,” I say, and I wrap my arms around Sky. She hugs me back. “You took care of it?” She lays her face against my chest and nuzzles against me. I could stand here like this all day long. “Of course,” I say. She mumbles something against my chest that sounds like, “You’re really sexy when you take care of children.” “Hey,” I cry. “You should see me when I vacuum. And do dishes. You won’t be able to stand the sexy.

What’s this?” he asks, sitting forward. I remove the top off the box and take out a pile of pictures. I hand him one. “This is Jacob,” I say. My eyes fill with tears, and I don’t even try to blink them back. I let them fall over my lashes and onto my cheeks. Paul brushes them away, but I really don’t want him to. I want to feel all of this because I have forced myself not to feel it for so very long. “This is when he was born.” I point to the squirmy little ball of red skin and dark hair. Paul looks from me to it. “He looks like you,” he says. I shake my head. “He looks more like his dad, I think.” These fucking tears keep falling. I’m not crying. It’s like someone opened an emotional dam in me and I can’t get it to close. I don’t want it to. “What happened to his dad?” Paul asks. “He died,” I say. I have to stop and clear my throat. “Drug overdose a few years after Jacob was born. I read about it in the paper.” “I’m so sorry.” I sniff. “I am, too.” I feel like I need to explain, and for the first time ever, I want to. “We were young, and we played around with marijuana and stuff. But I cut it all out when I found out I was pregnant with Jacob. He didn’t. He wasn’t able. It was really sad when I couldn’t be with him anymore. I didn’t have anyone else. But I didn’t really have him, either. The drugs had him, you know?” He nods. I hand him more pictures, and he flips through them. I have looked at them so much that they’re dog-eared in places. He holds one up from when Jacob was about three. “You can’t tell me he doesn’t look like you. Look at those eyes! He’s so handsome.” My eyes fill with tears again, but I smile through them. He is perfect. And I should be able to hear someone say so. “Look at that smirk!” Paul cries when he sees the most recent one. “That is so you!” I grin. I guess he’s right. “Where is your family, Friday?” he asks. “I don’t know,” I tell him. I lay my head on his shoulder and watch as he takes in the photos over and over, poring through the stack so he can point out ways that Jacob looks like me. “They kicked me out when I got pregnant. Terminated their rights.” Paul presses his lips to my forehead and doesn’t say anything. “I thought I knew everything back then.” I laugh and wipe my eyes with the hem of my dress. “Turns out I didn’t know shit.” “Do you ever think about looking for them?” I shake my head. “No. Never.” I point to special pictures of my son. “His mom—her name is Jill—she sometimes sends me special milestone pictures. This is his first tooth he got and the first tooth he lost. And this one is from his first step. That wasn’t even part of the agreement. She just does it because she wants me to know how he’s doing.” I try to grin through the tears. “He’s doing so great. He’s smart. And they can send him to college and to special schools. He takes piano, and he plays sports. And Jill says he likes to paint.” My voice cracks, and I don’t hate that it does. I just let it. “Of course, he does. You’re his mother.” “I just wanted to do what was best for him, you know?” This time, I use Paul’s sleeve to wipe my eyes. I blink hard trying to clear my vision. “That’s what parents do. We do what’s in the best interest of our children.” He kisses me softly. “Thank you for showing me these.

Your dad says you have a boyfriend,” she says and smiles. I nod. “Matthew,” I tell her. She doesn’t deserve the details. “The one with the tattoos,” she says. “He’s very handsome.” “He’s good and kind,” I correct. Then I smile, because thinking of him brings it out in me. “And handsome.” “Do you love him?” she asks. I nod my head. “As much as I know about love,” I say. “If I have to say yes or no, I say yes. But I’m not completely sure what that means.” “I’m sorry we made you doubt yourself so much. You’re worth so much more.” She swipes a hand beneath her nose. “We were terrible examples.” “I don’t trust him with my heart,” I admit. “I’m terrified to love him.” “Afraid he’ll turn on you?” she asks. “Or that he’ll walk away?” “Or that he’ll love me till the end of time,” I say. That’s just as scary, because I don’t know what to do with it. “You should look into some Al-Anon meetings,” she says. “They’re for families of addicts.” “Okay,” I say. She taps my leg. “For you,” she says. “Not for me.” She lights a new cigarette. I raise my brow at her. She laughs. “I’ve never felt quite so exposed. It’s a new and scary feeling. So, forgive me my vices. I’ll quit when I get through this.” “Okay.” I understand. I think. “Don’t be afraid to let him love you, Sky,” she says quietly. “I was afraid to let your dad love me. I didn’t think I deserved it, after the things I did when I was drinking. So I shut him out. Let Matthew in. Let him love you. Take it all in and let it seep into your bones. Don’t let it go. If he breaks your heart, at least you’ll know you still have one. Don’t die inside, like me. Let love in. Let it surround you and keep you on your feet when you can’t go anymore. Let. Love. In.

Question two: * Do you think your overly protective mother had an influence on you disliking your father? Answers: a) The answer to this 2nd question is a resounding ‘Yes’ and a reverberating ‘No.’ My mother was protective of me because she had nurtured a deep, strong relationship with me. She loved me for who I was and not for what she thought I ought to be. It was her unconditional love which drew me to her, whereas my dad never provided me the moral or psychological support I needed from an understanding and encouraging father. b) I was afraid of Foong Senior and I saw him as a dictator, which did nothing to endear me to the man. He wanted me to change into a person I was not and never will be. I could never ever live up to the image he had for me. In my eyes, I would never be good enough to gain his approval. c) On the other hand, my mother raised me to think for myself. Never did she coerce me not to be who I was. She nourished me and encouraged me to work on projects I loved and felt passionate about. On the contrary, my father tried to ‘butch me up’ into what he desired his sons to be. I was a victim of his own desires and I felt no urge to participate. I went to the sports-related activities solely to salivate on the handsome macho men who were often my tutors or fellow team mates.

Dad loves his father, but he says he has always been the same. Even when his kids were young, Grandpa John was always negative. If Grandma is a glass half full, Grandpa is a totally empty glass with a desert at the bottom of it.   Despite

Dad called the principal before we went to school and he told me the principal was okay with what had happened. However upon entering his office, I felt terribly guilty. The poor man was in a neck collar and it was all my fault. The room smelt of sanitizer. He greeted me with a smile, “Good morning Richard.” I was so glad my dad had come with me! Straight away I burst into a full-blown apology, the words tumbling out of my mouth. He waved his hands to stop my verbal outpouring of regret and sympathy. “It’s okay, Richard, I should have replaced my chair years ago, it has always been a bit wonky. I’m fine, don’t worry. Your Dad told me the whole story and I am proud to have such a caring student at this school.” Now this scenario definitely did not play through my head last night! Then he stood and walked around his desk and put his hand on my shoulder. “Can I give you a piece of advice, Richard?” he asked. I nodded. “Sort out your girl problems, two girls and one guy…it never works out.” Breathing a sigh of relief, I shook my head in agreement, “Thank you Sir, I’ll do that.” At the same time I was thinking…how am I going to do that? He walked us out to the hallway and I hugged Dad goodbye. Walking along this hallway yesterday, I felt full of doom and gloom, but today was different. Until I saw the vice principal standing at the end. I stopped, lowered my eyes and tried to apologize. In a quiet and very firm voice, she said, “I’m watching you.” Then she turned and walked back into her office. Two down, one to go and this person was the most important one…Maddi. I walked into class slightly late and heard a few quiet giggles and whispers. Obviously the kids had been gossiping. Looking around I couldn’t see her, she was away! I let out a huge sigh. All morning I had been looking forward to working it out with her. I waved hi to Gretel, she pulled a face and looked away and that was not a good sign. That look told me that Maddi had believed Linda and that she was really mad and upset. Linda was even later than me. She walked into the classroom with a huge smile on her face and apologized for being late, then she headed towards the vacant seat next to me. I jumped up, grabbed the chair and moved it next to Ted. There was NO WAY she was going to sit next to me! Everyone laughed and she looked embarrassed, but I didn’t care. I had had enough!

My dad looks like Clint Eastwood. His half-Scottish, half-German face in repose is handsome but terrifying. I searched the audience for him during the sixth-grade chorus concert and, seeing his stern expression, was convinced that he had seen me messing up the words to the Happy Days theme and that I was in big trouble. I spent the rest of the concert suppressing terror bumps, only to be given a big hug and a kiss afterward. It took me years to realize, Oh, that's just his face.

at the seat. Instead of blowing his top, he picked me up in his arms and said, "You did it?" I nodded, "Yes I did it!" "But, look son." He tried to explain, "I can't go out with a bottomless pajama — I am a man". I whispered, "And so am I". He just stared, and embraced me. And from that day I got proper pajamas to wear. Dad was a great friend, a very understanding and loving person. Time flies fast — my father's leave was almost over, but the construction work still remained incomplete. He had to go back to Amritsar to resume his duties, and my mother badly needed more money. Two days before his departure he took a loan of Rs. 1,500 from a friend, a Zargar (ornament maker), to somehow finish the construction work, and mortgaged our part of the haveli for this amount. This Rs. 1,500 brought a lot of trouble and hardship to the family as the interest for the loan went on adding. My father resigned his job as a postman and searched for a new clerical job. He did his best to pay off the loan; he but could not. Destiny's smile had changed into a fearsome frown. Soon my little sister Guro was born. While my father slogged in Amritsar to support the family and pay the monthly interest, my mother and grandmother somehow managed to survive. I fell sick, very very sick and the chubby child was soon a bundle of bones. The fair skin was tarnished and looked quite dusky. The handsome Kidar Nath became an ugly urchin. Lack of nourishment also made me a dull boy. The only thought that kept me alive was that my father was my best friend, and that I must stand by my best friend and help him to surmount his difficulties. Having found a tenant for the rebuilt Haveli, we all moved to Amritsar. Across our house lived a shop-keeper known for being a miser. He called a carpenter to fix the main door to his dwelling, because the top of the frame had cracked. A robust argument ensued because the shop-keeper would pay only half a rupee, while the carpenter wanted one. His reason being that an appropriate piece of wood had to be cut to match the area being repaired and then he would have to level the surfaces at a very awkward angle. But the owner was adamant and said, "Just nail the piece of wood, do not level it or do any fancy work, because I shall pay you only half a rupee", as he walked away in a huff.

My dad had told me once that I was handsome and stupid, an irresistible combination to a woman.

The drinking became a little more of a problem when I went to university. My parents had never been particularly present while I was growing up, so one might presume if I was going to go off the rails, why not do it at home, but I saved it for when I went away. I was enough of a disappointment to my father. I didn’t need to give him yet another excuse to help me understand I was not the daughter he wanted. My mother had left her native America when she fell in love with my dad while working for a year as an au pair in Gerrards Cross. She seemed happy when I was very young, then spent most of my teenage years in what I have always thought must have been, albeit undiagnosed a deep, and possibly clinical, depression. I can understand why. What I couldn’t understand is how she ever ended up with my father in the first place. He was handsome, and I suppose he must have been charming when they were young, but he was so damned difficult, I used to think, even when I was young, that we’d all be much happier if they got a divorce. I would sit with friends who would be in floods of tears because their mother had just found out their father had been having an affair, or their parents had decided they hated each other, or whatever the myriad of reasons are that drive people apart, and these friends would be crying at the terrible fear of their families breaking up, and all I could think was: I wish my parents would get divorced. It seemed to me that if ever there were two people on the planet who should not have been together, it was my parents. My mother is laid-back, funny, kind. She’s comfortable in her skin and has the easy laugh you expect from all Americans. She was brought up in New York, but her parents died very young, after which she went to live with her Aunt Judith. I never knew Aunt Judith, but everything about those days sounds idyllic, especially her summers in Nantucket. You look at pictures of my mum from those days and she was in flowing, hippie-ish clothes, always smiling. She had long, silky hair, and she looked happy and free. In sharp contrast to the pictures of her with my dad, even in those early days, when they were newlyweds, supposedly the happiest time of a relationship. He insisted she wear buttoned-up suits, or twinsets and pearls. Her hair was elaborately coiffed. I remember the heated rollers she kept in the bathroom, twisting her hair up every morning, spraying it into tight submission, slicking lipstick on her lips, her feet sliding into Roger Vivier pumps. If my father was away, she left her hair long and loose, wrapping a scarf around her head. She’d wear long gypsy skirts with espadrilles or sandals. I loved her like that most of all. I used to think it was her clothing that changed her personality,

I remember my dad told me a story about a gifted composer. That story has haunted me ever since. At the age of 23, the young man wrote his first and last symphony. He knew it was a masterpiece. Nothing else he ever did would be as good. When he finished the final note, he got up from his seat. He looked in a mirror. He was a muscular, fit young man, very handsome. He took a razor and slit his throat. My dad said he couldn’t listen to that music without crying. In the Lazar House, Danny and I found ConX. At last we understood . When the supreme moment of your life has come, why go on? ConX is perfection. It delivers your once-in-a-lifetime moment – your death. Lacrimae rerum.

know all about your tryst abroad with the sexy Lancaster.” My cheeks burn. “It wasn’t a tryst. We were dating.” “Were?” my mom questions. “Clearly he thinks you still are.” My eyes widen. “Really?” I stop my words. My family doesn’t need to know all the gory details. “He’s here, isn’t he?” My mom looks to where Spencer is standing. My dad grins. “Someone’s been bitten by Cupid.” I cringe at his lameness. “Seriously?” Lynn throws Dad a look of disappointment at his terrible joke. “What? I have to say something embarrassing.” “Mission accomplished,” I say. “Coffee break time. Everyone out. I’m sending over the Sexiest Bachelor of 2017,” Lynn jokes. I roll my eyes at her now. “What? Dad can’t be the only one with the bad jokes.” Everyone laughs at this. It’s good to be back with my family. I’ve spent so much time running away that I’ve missed out. I watch as they all quickly pile out, then I begin my internal freak-out. He’s here . . . He’s actually here! I have yet to look in a mirror since the accident. I’ve been so worried about Lindsey, I have thought of nothing but her. I’m probably a mess. I run my fingers through my hair, trying desperately to get some of the knots out to no avail. I’m still trying to tame the mess when he appears in front of me looking devastatingly handsome. His face is full of worry and my heart melts in this moment. “You’re here,” I say softly. “Of course I’m here.” He comes to my side, takes my hand in his, and brings his forehead down upon them. “Are you okay?” “I’m

was too unsettled to even consider pursuing him. Gabby had been right, of course. Had I shut myself off, which I’d been leaning toward, I wouldn’t have woken to his arm wrapped around me like a seat belt. He was even incredibly handsome when he slept. His expression so honest. His core so dominant, his hands so experienced, his mouth so pleasurable. How could only the lightest graze of his fingers, the subtlest exhale of his air cause me to quiver? But I did. In the last four years,

A huntress needs a gentle mate, Dad explained once, a boy she can protect, and such a boy is drawn to her in turn. He loves her strength, her fierce heart and her wild beauty, and she needs his gentleness and warmth and patience, just like the sun and moon in their courtship. The huntress embodies beauty in the manner of a wild thing – a dove or a doe or even a cougar, all dusk and sinew and bright eyes – and her mate creates beauty with his hands, preparing a snug and handsome burrow for his bride and filling it with food and little gifts for her pleasure. But you're the gentle one, I puzzled, for even as a small child I understood my parents' dispositions well. Does that make Mom a huntress? My father laughed richly at that. No, catkin, he replied. Your mother is a witch, and I have my suspicions about your sister. They're a bit trickier to love than huntresses, and they require a very different sort of mate, but that's another story altogether.

Mom pointed to an empty section of the village, “Build the mine right there. And Make it pretty! Please.” “Blech,” Elijah said, “We don’t do pretty.”  “Make it handsome then,” Mom said.  Ethan rolled his eyes. “That sounded an awful lot like a Dad joke.”  “Well, it was a Mom joke, because I said it. Now, get to work. I’ll deliver you fresh pumpkin pie.”  “OOOH PIE!” the Double-Es shouted and pulled out shovels to dig.  “Let’s see, who’s next?” Mom said to herself. “Oh, I know!” She looked around the village, and finally found Alex, the illager tool smith as he was wandering around. “Alex!” She waved at him. The illager stopped and smiled, greeting her.  “Hello, Mrs. Smith, how are you?” “I’m good, but what are you doing? You look a little lost.” Mom eyed him.  Alex sighed. “It’s a strange thing. I was finally settling in, back at the other village, then we had to pick up and go. I don’t really know what my place is here. There are plenty of other illagers who can help with the defenses. Plus, I left my smithing table back in the other village. I feel useless.

Seeing his dad and getting a glimpse of what Blaine might look like in twenty years makes my stomach swoop. He’ll be fucking handsome.

I check my email. Once more, nothing from my brother Hayden. My nearly empty glass follows me to my bedroom, and I lie there, half asleep, half woozy from too much alcohol. I run my hand through my hair. I’m back on the Walla Walla. The images are fuzzy, like an old VHS tape. Hayden is asleep, and I gently lift him away, deeper into a nest of paper towels. I turn in the dim light of the ferry bathroom and hold up my hair with one hand. I reach for the scissors and start cutting. Locks fall like autumn leaves over the dingy countertop and into the bottom of the pitted white sink. I cut, and I cut. Tears roll down my cheeks, but I don’t make a sound. I open a box of dye and apply it with the thin plastic gloves that come in the box. I smell the chemicals as my hair eclipses from brown to blond. I rinse in the sink, the acrid odor wafting through the still air of the bathroom. I tear a ream of paper towels to wring out the water and then, in what I think is a brilliant move, I turn on the hand dryer and rotate my head against the hot spray of air. I am in Maui. I am in Tahiti. I’m on the beach and I have a tan. A handsome boy looks at me and I smile. The dryer stops, and I look in the mirror and I see her. Mom. I look just like my mother. It was unintended genius. Hayden, now awake, seems to agree. “I miss Mom. Do you think they found Dad?” I indicate the second box of hair dye. “Your turn, Hayden.” He climbs up on the counter and lays his head in the sink as I wet his hair with lukewarm water. It reminds me of when he was a baby and Mom washed him in the sink instead of the tub. He scrunches his eyes shut as I rub in the dye. When I’m done, he will be transformed. He’ll no longer be the little boy with the shock of blond hair, the one that makes him look like he’s stepped out of the page of a cute kids’ clothing website. I look down at the name on the dye box.

A snowball unexpectedly and painfully pounded hard into the back of my head. “Ow!” Putting my hand back there, rubbing the sore spot, I spun around and could hardly believe my eyes. My irksome brother was standing on the deck, a huge cocky grin plastered on his irritatingly handsome face. Why had I gotten stuck with the red hair and freckles like Mom while he had not a freckle in sight and had inherited Dad’s dark hair? I tried to take consolation in the fact that he wouldn’t hold on to that beautiful thick hair forever. Eventually, hopefully, it would start to disappear like Dad’s was now doing. “You’re building a snowman? What are you, like, two years old?” he taunted. I was stunned. My brain wouldn’t function, no words would come forth. Because standing right beside him, grinning as well, was . . . Brad Connor. “You’re one to talk,” I finally tossed back at him when my brain kicked into gear. “Throwing snowballs. What are you, like, one?” Okay, so maybe my brain was still in lock-down mode. It was trying to putter along, but it obviously wasn’t warmed up yet. “God, Kate, your comebacks are sharp enough to . . . well, heck, I guess they aren’t sharp.

In the middle of the chaos, the only item that is clean and dust free is a framed photo of Cilian's dad. I've never seen him before. I pick it up to take a closer look. "Twelve years he's been gone," Cillian says. "And she's still trying to find some way to reconnect with him. With magic off-line, she's desperate for anything else." "I can't blame her. He's handsome. He looks a little like Orlando Bloom." "Dammit, Nina! Orlando Bloom?" Cillian snatches the photo away from me. "I can't unsee that! My feelings about my dead dad were already complicated; now I have to worry that I'm Oedipal, or whatever the guy-crushing-on-his-own-dad equivalent is. I swear to God if you so much as breathe about more handsome men in connection to anyone I'm related to, I will never speak to you again." "You're not messed up! I'm sorry. He looks nothing like Orlando Bloom. Or any other person you've ever had a crush on." "Just shut it and let me find the handcuffs." I turned away from Cillain's definitely Orlando Bloom-look-alike father and wait, keeping a wary eye on the demon.

But when she leaves him, she misses him like crazy, because he’s the only dad she has, and he’s hers, and he’s smart and handsome and successful, and he spoils her with everything but his attention. It’s confusing. Sadie’s confused. And the result is, she hates him. Although in twenty years, at his third wedding, this final time to someone age-appropriate, she whispers to her date, “Not exactly a role model, but he was a good time.” So at least there was that.

In any case, the man handled the tour brilliantly. He had a genuine gift for using the vid. Moving about through the bunker with the monitors in tow, explaining what this was or that did, sliding jokes in and out without a scratch, he projected the model image of the humble soldier forced by his own excellence up through the ranks. He was terribly handsome as well, his huge screen face somehow capable of intimacy despite the vastness. Paternal, brotherly, and grand at will, he was, at the same time, The Commander, favorite uncle, wiseman, king, drinking buddy, and Dad. Sexy, too, Felix assumed, glancing at Shoen’s upturned and attentive face.

So, since, you know, I’m calling you Dad and stuff, you said before that if I decided to, I could take your last name.” I shove my hands into my pockets and nod at him. “Yes, I said that.” “Would—” He licks his lips. “Would that still be possible?” “You want to be Jake Wild?” “If it’s okay with you.” “Yeah.” I smile back at him as a grin spreads over his handsome face. “Yeah, that’s more than okay with me.

At first, I tried so hard not to objectify him when I took his picture. But after a few moments, it was easy; he was more than just a man with a devastatingly handsome face and an unbelievable body. He was also self-effacingly funny, humble, and brave. He was a good dad and a gentleman, and he deserved to have the pictures to show it. But I had to admit, he was still the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my entire life.