The phone rang during Sunday morning’s breakfast. Griff dove for the receiver, lifting it on the first ring. “Chelsie?”
“Wrong answer.”
“Ryan. I’ll talk when you get here.” In no mood to deal with his friend, Griff hung up. Three days had passed in which he hadn’t heard from Chelsie. He hadn’t expected to, but he had hoped. Considering he didn’t know what he’d say to her should she decide to call, he ought to
be grateful for her distance. He wasn’t.
He sat back down at the table.
“Pancakes?” Mrs. Baxter asked.
With a shake of his head, he declined. “Just coffee. After this endless weekend, I could use some.”
The older woman smiled and handed him a cup. “Decaf.” Her eyes twinkled with delight. “Miss Russell said to make sure you stayed away from the hard stuff.”
If she didn’t intend to stick around, why the hell did Miss Russell care what he drank? Rationally, he realized his anger at Chelsie made little sense. He’d driven her away and caused her to break up the partnership. This morning, however, he wasn’t feeling particularly rational.
Alix was in a rotten mood. The little girl whined, cried, and acted out in every way imaginable. She hadn’t stopped asking for Chelsie. For Mommy, he silently amended. The word had been on the child’s lips morning, noon, and night. And Griff knew without question that this time she wasn’t referring to Shannon. Alix wanted Chelsie. And she wasn’t the only one. After an entire weekend without a break, Griff’s nerves were shot. He needed some peace and quiet.
“Milk,” Alix said, pointing to a plastic cup on the counter. He handed her the cup, which Alix immediately knocked over. Milk spilled over the high chair onto the floor and splattered on his jeans and shirt. Frustrated, he opened his mouth to yell, but Alix beat him to it screaming at the top of her lungs.
“I’ll handle it. Go for a walk. Take a break or something,” Mrs. Baxter said. “You haven’t let me earn my keep the entire weekend. Whatever you’re running from, it’s bound to catch up with you sometime. Why not deal with it now?”
Griff left the room without a word. Now his housekeeper was offering unsolicited advice. What next?
Ryan caught up with him on the driveway. “Excuse me for stating the obvious, but you look like hell.”
“Thanks, Ryan. It’s always a pleasure. How’d you get here so fast?”
He patted his jacket pocket. “Cellular. Squirt’s been tough?”
“Life’s been tougher.”
“And I’m sorry for my part in it.”
Griff shrugged.
Ryan leaned against the car and squinted against the bright rays of the sun. “You’re one pathetic bastard, you know that?”
“Yeah. But you know what they say. It takes one to know one.”
“True.” He straightened, leaning toward Griff. “What’s that on your shirt?”
“Milk,” Griff answered without glancing down. The wet spots had already seeped through to his skin. He’d have to change before the odor of dried milk became offensive.
Ryan nodded. “What do you think Deidre would do if she saw you looking like this?”
“I think she’d take the first cab—make that limo—back to her ritzy apartment and shower, just in case the smell interfered with her perfume.” Despite himself, Griff couldn’t suppress a grin and a full-blown laugh.
“I guess it’s a good thing she dumped you.”
For the first time, Griff agreed. “True.”
“So I guess the next woman’s got to love kids.”
His laughter suffered a sudden death. “Cut the pop psychology.” Telling Ryan about his breakup with Chelsie had been a mistake. After a few beers, Griff had let Ryan pump him for information, forgetting that he’d regret his revelations the next day.
“What the hell is it with you? The first one doesn’t like kids and the second one loves ‘em. Neither can win.”