The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters



Shirley Bourget is the Author of epic paranormal fantasy and romance titles. Her books carry unusual themes like her tattoo series, Living Ink. She lives in East Texas with her husband and is learning how to be 100% Redneck Lake Trash and loving it. When not writing, Shirley likes taking long walks around the lake, reading, painting, and photography. To read more of her writing, and to follow a listing of her books, please visit her website:

www.shirleybourget.com





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A Father’s Kiss


(A Slammed Series Epilogue)


Colleen Hoover





Prologue


I pull the collar of my shirt up to my eyes and wipe them again. I know how much Mrs. Katie hates it when I do that. She says it stretches the collars of my tops and ruins the shirts. I don’t want to ruin all the nice shirts she bought me, so I’ve been trying not to cry as much as I used to. I quickly glance up at her, hoping she didn’t notice, but she just smiles and squeezes my hand.

“Now Olivia, you knew when you came to stay with me that this was only temporary. I’m getting too old to keep foster children and I hadn’t planned on taking any more children at all before you came.“ She bends down and puts her arms around me. I automatically tense up at the gesture, like I do every time. I’ve been here three months and, although I’m still not used to it, I’ve been hugged more in these three months than I have in my entire ten years of life.

“I knew it was only until they could find me somewhere else to live again, Mrs. Katie. I was just…I was hoping you would change your mind.” I plop down onto the bed behind me and fold my hands in my lap. The fingernail polish on my thumb is already starting to chip. When Mrs. Katie painted them last weekend, I couldn’t decide which color to choose, there were so many. She told me that sometimes the best choice is when you choose all the choices. So that’s what I chose. All of them. Each one of my nails is painted a different color, like a rainbow.

Except now that rainbow is chipping.

“Olivia,” she says, lowering her voice. She sits beside me on the bed and lifts her hand to my chin, pulling my focus to hers. “You knew when you came that this wasn’t an option. Not with my age and my health. I’ve been completely honest with you since the moment we met, haven’t I? I’m moving in with my daughter now so she can help take care of me. I’m getting too old to take care of myself, much less you.“

I nod and try to appear understanding. She has been honest with me, I just didn’t expect to…to love her. I try to turn away from her but she places her palm against my cheek and refocuses my attention back in her direction.

“Remember, Olivia, you need to be strong.” She taps the area over my heart, looking me in the eyes and says, “You need to be strong in here.” She moves her hand up to my temple and taps it. “And especially in here. Your happiness isn’t determined by where or who you live with. Happiness comes from within, and only you can control that. No one else.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as soon as I feel the tears building. Her arms go around me again, and I melt into her this time. “I’m scared,” I cry into her shirt. “I’m so scared. What if they don’t like me? What if they don’t want to keep me? What if I just keep getting moved from family to family like I have been all year?”

She continues to hug me and strokes my hair. The feel of her hands against my head instantly comforts me. I’ve never felt as secure in my whole life as I do when she strokes her hand across my hair. I wish my mother had been a mother that would do that. I don’t ever remember her touching my hair. If I ever have kids, I’m going to make sure I stroke their hair every single day of their life.

“Oh, Olivia,” she says, squeezing me tighter. Her voice cracks when she says my name, so I instinctively pull back and look up at her. She’s crying, too. I’ve never seen her cry before. Her expression softens and she smiles at me, then pulls out the collar of her own shirt and wipes her tears away. It makes me giggle, seeing her do the very thing that she tells me not to do. When she realizes what she just did, she laughs, too.

“You see?” she says, smiling. “That right there is why I don’t worry about you. You always find the positive in every situation. That right there is why you shouldn’t worry about you, either.” Her eyes narrow and her smile fades. She takes my hands in hers and brings her face down until it’s level with mine. “You have been dealt a very tough hand in life, Ms. Olivia King. A very tough hand. But you know what? Instead of spending the rest of your life complaining about the hand you were dealt, you are the type of person who will spend the rest of your life feeling lucky that you were even dealt a hand. And that, my dear, is what will make you rather than break you.”

Sometimes the things Mrs. Katie says don’t make a whole lot of sense to me, but I try to remember them anyway. For some reason, everything she says seems important, so I always try to repeat her words in the back of my mind.

“I’m going to miss you so much, Olivia. So, so much. But as much as I’ll miss you, I’m not going to worry about you. I know for a fact that you’ll be just fine.” She stands and picks up my suitcase. She holds out her hand, gesturing her head toward the bedroom door, indicating it’s time to leave.

I don’t know why I believe her, but I do. No matter what happens or where I go from here, I’m going to be just fine. I know I will, because Mrs. Katie said so.





Chapter One

C. A. Newsome's books