“Not quite,” Libby said dismissively. Not willing to discuss her personal business any further. Besides, the woman could go fawn over some other guy. Greyson was . . . he was . . .
Her thoughts stuttered to a halt as she ran out of steam.
Greyson was nothing to her. She had no claim on him. And he had none over her.
But he was her child’s father, and it wasn’t okay for Alix to stare at him like a hungry shark ogling her next meal.
Unfortunately yoga did not have the desired effect that day. Libby’s eyes kept drifting to Greyson. He seemed so at ease with those kids, so knowledgeable in what he was trying to teach them. She had never known he was this adept at his chosen field of martial arts.
Clara picked up on her tension and cried through most of the class, setting the other babies off. In the end, Libby excused herself. Greyson appeared next to the stage while she was rolling up her mat.
“Do you want me to hold her while you pack up?” he asked quietly. Aware of the avid gazes from the other women, Alix especially, Libby nodded and handed Clara to him. She heard the collective sighs from all the females—young and old—in the huge hall when he cuddled Clara to his chest and kissed her wet cheek.
He didn’t seem to notice the ovarian meltdown in the room, his entire focus on his daughter.
“Hey, munchkin, why so grumpy?” His large hand stroked her small back in soothing circles as he continued to quietly speak to her. He walked her over to the group of teens, and Charlie ran to them and took Clara from Greyson, making a huge fuss of her while introducing her around to the other kids. Clara, always happy to be the center of attention, stopped crying and stared at everybody in fascination. While Greyson kept a close eye on them, Libby kept an eye on him. She packed up the remainder of her things and said a quick goodbye to the ladies, who were only halfway through their yoga session.
She threw her bag over her shoulder and made her way to Greyson.
“Why are you here?” she asked him, her eyes on Charlie and Clara.
“Brand asked me to help him out with a couple of his self-defense classes. I don’t usually teach this one, but Brand had a business meeting today. I instruct the ladies’ class on Wednesdays and a youth class on Saturday afternoons.”
“I didn’t know you were good enough to train people.”
“I told you—I have a black belt.”
“What else don’t I know about you?” she asked, her voice soft and speculative and a little resentful.
“I hate carrots,” he said, the words hurried and impulsive.
“I’ve seen you eat them,” Libby replied with an incredulous little laugh.
“Didn’t say I didn’t eat them; of course I eat them. They’re healthy. But I absolutely loathe them. Same goes for cabbage and”—he shuddered—“brussels sprouts.”
Libby stared at him, a little astounded by these revelations. It was so typical of Greyson to stoically endure something he disliked because it was the right thing to do.
“And then there’s this,” he suddenly said, digging his phone out of his back pocket.
Libby watched while he scrolled through it. He nodded when he seemed to find what he was looking for and turned the screen to her. She stared blankly at the beautifully colored, complicated-looking mandala on the screen.
“What is this?”
“An app. A coloring app. I like to color things. I find it soothing.”
She stared blankly at the beautiful blend of colors, and they all ran together when her eyes blurred with tears. Her lips compressed, and she handed his phone back without a word.
He had always enjoyed jigsaw puzzles, building models, putting pieces together to create a whole. It came as no surprise to her that he enjoyed an activity like this. It would speak to his sense of organization. What did surprise her was the amount of creativity and imagination such a task would require. And Greyson had never struck her as a particularly creative man.
She returned her gaze to Clara and Charlie. The baby had forgotten her tears, clearly feeling familiar and comfortable with Charlie.
“I’ll let you get back to your class,” she said, and he shook his head.
“Our hour’s nearly up.”
“Nevertheless, I should get Clara home for her bath and nap.”
“Of course. I’ll see you both later, then.”
“Yes. I’ll bring her to Tina’s office.” Libby hovered for a second longer before striding toward the group of teens to retrieve her baby.
Greyson watched them leave, his throat closing up with emotion. Divulging meaningless little factoids about himself wasn’t going to achieve anything. He knew that, but he wanted her to know that he was trying. That he wanted to be less aloof. She had once told him not to change for her. That any changes he made had to be for someone he loved. Olivia and Clara were the two people he loved the most in this world. They were worth changing for. If nothing else, Clara deserved a warm, loving, and demonstrative father. Greyson was trying to be that for his little girl. Trying to be open and approachable with the people who meant the most to him.