Through His Eyes

The rest of the day was spent visiting several of those listings, to which Kinsley whined and cried that she loves her school and would die if she had to leave it. Yes, she actually said she would die. When we got home, she told Jax, who assured her she wouldn’t have to switch schools. Which caused Jax and me to get into our first fight ever when I told him he had no right to tell her that.

My week did get a bit better when Celeste called in need of a last minute photographer when hers canceled due to a family emergency. I spent the day with Celeste and Skyla—who co-owns Celeste’s company, Leblanc, Inc. It’s made up of several mini-companies which focus on clothing, makeup, and jewelry. I was thrilled to learn how much I would make from doing the shoot, and it made me see that I might need to branch out to more than just weddings and family shoots. While I love doing them, I need to think about providing for my daughter, and weddings and engagement shoots just don’t bring in enough. When I brought it up to Celeste, she told me she would hire me in a heartbeat, and that the only reason she never suggested it was because she didn’t think I wanted to go in that direction. She’s already scheduled me for several upcoming shoots.

Thursday took a nosedive when my daughter’s teacher called to let me know that Kinsley punched a boy in the stomach and would have to go home until Monday. I learned he’s been picking on her, and she had enough. I explained we don’t put our hands on anyone, and Kinsley said she understood. I also let her teacher know of the situation. When I told Kinsley there would be no electronics or soccer this weekend because of the choice she made, she cried and went straight to her room. Sometimes being a mom is hard.

Friday, I photographed a wedding, and Ember watched Kinsley. She’s a college student at NYU and has been babysitting Kinsley for the last couple years. And that leads me to tonight. I’m in my comfy cotton pajamas, exhausted as all hell, and determined to get these edits done, so I can look at some more of the listings Jenna sent over. When the doorbell rings, I set my laptop down and walk over to the front door to answer it, and standing there, looking sexy as all hell in his Forbidden Ink T-shirt and jeans, is Lachlan.

And no, he wasn’t mentioned in any of my recollection of the week. Why? Because when I texted him Sunday night, asking if he could talk, he texted me back: No. I was a bit thrown by his clipped response, but didn’t want to assume anything, so I texted him back: Later? And when he responded with another No, I took the hint.

I thought about asking him why, but I was too upset. And if I’m honest, I was afraid he would tell me it’s because of his ex, Shea. He had promised to let me go if he decided to be with someone else, so maybe that was his way of doing so. On the other hand, he could’ve texted a bit more explanation. But if he doesn’t want to talk to me, then I’m not going to beg. I spent years begging Rick to love and want me, and the only thing it did was make me look pathetic and give him more power. So instead, I responded with two letters of my own: OK

“Hey,” he says, giving me a nervous half-smile.

“Hey,” I say back. “What’s up?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I open the door for him, even though I don’t want him here. He steps into the house and walks straight to the living room.

“Is Kinsley here?”

“She’s upstairs sleeping.”

“Okay, so, I just wanted to say…” He digs his hands into his pockets, and his arms stretch out, the muscles flexing. It reminds me of last Saturday, when we had finished eating and Kinsley asked if she could feed the ducks some bread. She said her feet hurt from playing soccer, so Lachlan picked her up and placed her on his shoulders. She giggled and kicked, and he carried her like she weighed nothing.

My gaze goes from his muscles to his eyes and see he’s staring at me with his brows raised. Shit! While I was drooling over his arm-porn, did I miss what he said to me?

“Can you…umm…” I clear my throat. “Can you repeat what you said?”

“I said, even though things didn’t work out with us, I want you to know I really did like you. I think you’re beautiful, and I hope, despite what we did last weekend, we can still be friends.”

“You could’ve just texted that,” I say, not understanding why he felt the need to come here. But maybe this is his way of letting me go. He still could’ve done it through text, though.