I was just goin’ to have to face it.
Accept it.
He stood there, holding his son.
His son.
His son.
His son.
I heard it like an echo shouting in my soul.
Reverberating. Rebounding. Slamming back into me with little pulses of pain with each pass.
The child clung to his side like a little froggy with sticky, clinging hands.
Just like his daddy.
Cute as a bug when he was so little like that. A smattering of freckles speckled beneath his eyes and running the bridge of his nose.
Full lips all twisted up in a shy-sort of glee.
Agony clutched me by the throat, and somehow, my shattered heart threatened to expand. I struggled to remain upright, to fight for the good in all this mess.
“Did you come to see Grammy?” Aunt Hope’s expression lit up like a kid watching fireworks for the first time on the Fourth of July.
Wow.
Had she ever gone from horrified shock yesterday to sweet grammy mode in a quick shift of gears.
It wasn’t like I would have expected anything less from her. Wasn’t like her givin’ nature wasn’t going to come out on top.
Not that there was a soul in this whole wide world who would be able to resist that smile, anyway.
Not the child’s and sure not Evan’s.
Evan who sent his mama a wide though unsettled grin.
Like he didn’t know how to stand on the ground that seemed to be undulating, either.
Everything crooked and off-balance.
Carly sent me a look. There was hardly any sound coming from her mouth, her words secret and covert and packed with implication. “Oh girl, you are in so much trouble. Have you ever seen anything as sexy as that? I mean, Evan was always cute and all . . . but holy hot damn. He came back with his A-game.”
Why did she feel the need to do this to me?
Like she was pointing out what was plain as day.
Besides, what Evan and I had shared had never been a game, even though he looked like he might as well suit up for a not-so-friendly match.
Evan rumbled something to his mama, and my stare got tangled in the action, in the way Aunt Hope was over there kissing on that tiny boy’s cheek, the way Evan was staring down at the kid like the child was the one who’d personally placed the stars in the sky.
The one who’d given Evan a reason to stare at them all through the night.
Carly reached over and lifted my chin where my jaw had gotten away from me and was hanging down to the floor.
“Clean up on aisle 4. You’re droolin’,” she said.
I shot her a glare. “Stop it,” I hissed.
“What?” She shrugged, all kinds of innocent.
“You know what.”
Carly’s brow lifted.
Clueless.
Except she was grinning.
I mean, seriously, did she think she was gonna play some kind of cupid? Because
Cupid had struck me a long-damned time ago and I was still bearing the wounds of that arrow.
Bleeding out.
She started wiping down around the coffee urns, her back turned to the lobby, her voice for me. “You know he came here to see you.”
“He did not. He came here to see his mama.”
“Um . . . pretty sure he’s stayin’ with her. Not a whole lot of reason for him to stop by when she’s gonna be getting off here in a bit.”
I scowled at her. “You’re just dreaming up more drama. Drop it. It’s over, and I’m over it.”
I tried to build up all the fortitude that I could find.
“You are literally the worst liar I have ever met.”
My attention got snagged on the trio when the little boy’s giggle filled the air. So light and sweet and carrying the promise of agony.
The child threw his head back, grabbing his daddy’s strong jaw and cracking up laughing as Evan nuzzled his face into the little boy’s neck.
The whole scene was so tender that the flood waters sloshed and dribbled over the side.
If I wasn’t careful, I was gonna get drenched.
Carly angled behind me where I’d been leaning over to restock the Blueberry Button Bliss cupcakes. She knocked into my hip as she passed. “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” she taunted beneath her breath.
Awesome.
We were back to bein’ ten.
“I will stab you,” I warned.
She chuckled. “I’m super terrified of you, Frankie Leigh. I might have pissed my pants. Oh wait, that was just because I was laughin’ so hard.”
I pinched her side.
Hard.
She yelped, then mouthed, “Vicious.”
“I’ll show you vicious.”
And then my head was snapping forward, a slow-slide of chills rolling down my spine when I felt the shift in the air.
Aunt Hope was bouncing the child in her arms and murmuring sweet nothings that I knew really meant everything. She rounded to the back of the counter. “Did you eat, my chunky boy? Let’s see what we can get for you. I bet Grammy has something special that you’ll like. You are so sweet . . . yes you are, aren’t you?”