Chapter Eighteen
It takes me four whole days to get completely back on schedule, and by the time I do, it’s weekend again. I tell Derek I can’t come to him again this weekend. There’s too much work to do on my book and everyone else’s books, and I can’t justify the three hours of drive time just to sleep in his bed and drive back the next morning.
“All right, I’ll come to you,” he says.
I argue again, not because I don’t want to see him, but because I don’t want to keep taking him away from Cassidy. The poor kid went from having him all to herself, to now him spending half his weekends away from her to come see me.
“There is a third option,” he texts. “I could bring her with me. You do have two extra bedrooms in your house.”
The idea of a child in my office—since my house is more or less just an office with a bed—seems like a terrible idea. Instead of saying that, I say nothing. I go back to work and try my best to ignore my phone.
Derek figures it out and texts me again. “Keep ignoring me, I’ll show up on your porch with a kid and a bed. You won’t have the heart to turn us away.”
I crack a smile, but text back in all caps, “PUSHY.”
“How about this? I’ll come pick you up. I’ll drive you here and back, that way you can work the whole time we’re in the car.”
“To the tune of Old McDonald Had a Farm?” I ask, since that is Cassidy’s car ride song of choice. “That’s too much work. We’ll just hang out next weekend. I swear, I’ll do enough extra work this weekend so I can take off Friday. I’ll drive out, come meet you for dinner, spend the night, and come back Saturday after breakfast.”
Judging by his lack of response, he is not wild about that plan.
I don’t have time to appease his wants and desires, so I put my phone on my desk and get back to work.
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By the time I see Derek again, it has been two weeks. He hadn’t given up trying to convince me to spend the weekend with him, but then Thursday—thank God—I got my period. There was little point making a booty call when no booty could be called upon, so I finally won.
I know Derek likes things on his terms, so I’m expecting a mild attitude when I show up at the Mexican restaurant we agreed to meet at for dinner tonight. Colorful paint has been slapped up on the walls, creating pretty murals of the Mexican countryside. This restaurant was here when I lived here—in fact, Derek and I came here once, so it’s a little bizarre to be back.
I see Derek and Cassidy at the table before they see me. There’s a faint tug at my heartstrings watching them together, seeing Derek’s elbows on the table, giving her his full attention, and Cassidy leaning over, gleefully pretending to steal his nose.
Two tables behind them, a man sits with (presumably) his daughter, both of them on their phones, wrapped up in their own little worlds instead of each other. I don’t want to say I’m surprised that Derek is such a good dad—obviously I thought he would be a good dad, since in my fantasies, he would have been the father of my child someday—but he fills the role with remarkable ease.
I feel like I’m interrupting when I finally get to the table, and even though I prepared myself for Derek to be a little sour about my not wanting to see him before now, I still feel a small knot of dread in my stomach until his eyes meet mine.
Instant relief. Not only does he look happy to see me, he stands up and walks over, wrapping an arm around my waist and tugging me close.
“Finally,” he murmurs warmly.
I put my hands on his chest, smiling faintly. “No kissing in front of—”
He blatantly ignores me, leaning in and covering my mouth with his. His kisses make my stomach too fluttery to ignore, so even though I’m not completely on board with kissing in front of his daughter, that’s what happens.
When he pulls back, he winks at me, then starts to tug me into the booth beside him.
“No,” Cassidy objects. “I want Nikki to sit over here with me.”
“What?” Derek replies, eyes comically wide. “You trying to steal my Nikki time?”
“You gotta share,” she tells him.
“See, we are too demanding to share one day,” Derek informs me, flashing me an innocent look. “We need more than one day every two weeks.”
Smiling faintly, I scoot into the booth next to Cassidy. “There it is. I wasn’t counting, was it five seconds before you brought it up?”
“I think it was seven,” he offers.
“Stay in your box,” I warn him, pointing a finger at him.