She stared at him for a long, speculative moment, her head tilted and her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Are you sure?” she finally asked, and he nodded, reaching for Clara and lifting her from the stroller to rock her comfortingly.
“Thank you,” she said, all animosity set aside for their daughter’s sake. He nodded curtly. She took Clara from him and gave her a little squeeze and a kiss.
“I’m sorry, my darling. I know the mean man hurt you. But you’ll be all better soon.” She kissed Clara’s wet cheek, and a tear slipped down her own as her emotions finally got the better of her. Greyson couldn’t tell if she was crying because Clara was upset and she would have to leave her or because of their argument.
“I’ll see you later?” he asked hesitantly. He wasn’t taking care of Clara tonight; Spencer’s sister watched her on the weekends. But Greyson wasn’t sure if he should still go around to Olivia’s house for the other thing.
His heart sank when she shook her head. “I don’t think so, Greyson. Not tonight.”
“Olivia,” he began, his voice miserable. She shook her head, still refusing to meet his eyes as she handed Clara back to him.
“Her bag is stowed beneath the stroller.”
She left without saying goodbye.
Libby strode straight into Tina’s office after the morning meeting. Her friend had looked increasingly miserable this past week. She had told Libby that she and Harris had had a huge argument, and while she was pissed off with him, she also missed him.
Libby could relate.
“I’m going to divorce him,” Libby said without preamble after entering the office.
Tina looked up at her. “Oh?”
“It’s time for us to move on with our lives.”
“Libby . . .”
“Don’t argue with me, Tina,” she said, inserting as much firmness as she could into her voice.
“I had no intention of arguing with you; I just wanted to ask if you’re sure. He seems so different. Genuinely contrite.”
“A contrite man would have apologized by now,” Libby said, her voice wobbling alarmingly.
Tina’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, are you telling me he hasn’t apologized at all?”
“Oh, he has apologized for so many things, since coming here. But not for accusing me of sleeping around on him, not for his emotional abandonment during my pregnancy, not for the way he treated Clara and me in the hospital that night. I’m not even sure if an apology would make a difference at this point. But he should at least have made one, right? He’s still the same entitled, arrogant Greyson Chapman. He expects the world from me, for very little in return. And I’m done. He and I can work out a custody agreement that suits both of us. I want to keep it amicable for Clara’s sake. I know he’ll want that too.”
“I’m so sorry, Libby,” Tina murmured, getting up and rounding her desk to hug Libby.
Libby accepted the embrace gratefully, leaning on her friend for emotional and moral support.
“When will you talk to him about the divorce?” Tina asked.
Libby stepped out of the other woman’s arms and shrugged. “I’m not sure. Soon.”
“You know I’ll support you all the way.”
“I know, Tina. I love you for that.”
The following evening, as Greyson was preparing for his football game with Spencer Carlisle and the rest of his cobbled-together team, his phone chimed.
Hey, I was wondering if you were free for dinner tomorrow night. It was from Olivia.
Greyson felt an anticipatory twinge in his chest. If he were one for fanciful notions, he would probably have described it as his heart leaping. He tamped down his excitement, relieved to hear from her after yesterday’s disagreement.
I’m free.
Great. I’m going to a baby shower tomorrow afternoon, but what about meeting after that?
Five?
Sounds good. I’m going to ask Tina to watch Clara, so I’ll meet you at Harris’s place. Can you ask Harris if he’d be willing to babysit with Tina?
If she was asking Greyson to ask Harris, that meant she was probably still mad at the other man. A year ago, Greyson might have celebrated that fact, but now it disturbed him. Harris had been quiet and depressed since his argument with Martine on Tuesday, and Olivia’s continued anger was probably adding to his depression. Greyson had tried to engage with his brother over the past week, but Harris had been uncommunicative. Unusual for him.
I’ll ask him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to.
Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.
I’ll drive us to dinner.
Not necessary.
Makes no sense going in two cars.
Fine! I’ll see you then.
He grinned and sent her a thumbs-up emoji. He was of the opinion that it was a lazy way to communicate. But he felt curiously ebullient after the exchange, and it was an impulsive act.
He stared at the yellow thumb for a long moment after it was sent and, emboldened, threw all caution to the wind to follow it up with a smiley emoji.