More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

“Harris wanted to say hi to Clara,” Libby informed her, and Tina forced the corners of her lips up into what she hoped was a semblance of a smile. Harris was watching her closely, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. He looked less casual this afternoon, dressed in charcoal-gray suit pants and white dress shirt, with the collar undone and the sleeves rolled up his strong forearms to his elbows. Still not full work regalia, but not as casual as the jeans and T-shirt of the night before. Or the sweats of that morning.

“That’s nice,” Tina said, her voice faint. Charlie was watching them all curiously, and Libby made quick introductions. Harris tore his unfathomable gaze from Tina’s face long enough to smile down at the petite teen, and then he had eyes only for Clara. His face softened dramatically as he stared down at her.

“God, she’s gorgeous. The pictures didn’t do her justice. She’s bigger than I was expecting.” He sounded awed and choked up. His hands left his pockets and reached for the sleeping baby before he paused, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.

“Can I . . . is it okay if I hold her?”

“Of course it is, Harris,” Libby murmured gently as she reached down and lifted the sleeping infant from her bassinet. She carefully transferred Clara into Harris’s strong, waiting arms, and he eagerly cradled the tiny body close to his chest, instinctively rocking as he held her close.

Tina kept her eyes on his face, the love and tenderness she saw there bringing scalding tears to her eyes, and she swallowed painfully as she watched him coo tender little nothings into Clara’s ear. He nuzzled the soft hair on the baby’s temple and kissed her cheek.

Tina’s hands balled into fists beneath the desk, and her short nails cut into the soft flesh of her palms. She welcomed the physical pain, since it detracted from the envy that burned like acid in her gut. How easy it was for him to hold Clara and how at home he seemed with a baby in his arms. It left a bitter ache in her heart, one that she loathed herself for feeling. She shouldn’t care. Not anymore.

When he dropped another kiss on Clara’s forehead, Tina surged to her feet clumsily, nearly knocking the desk chair over.

“I have to get back to work,” she said, her voice wobbling embarrassingly. She had to get out of this room before she humiliated herself even further.

“We’ll be out of your hair in—”

“I’ll see you later, Libby,” she said, interrupting her friend’s words rudely. She hurried from the room with very little grace or dignity and, instead of going back to the restaurant, made a beeline for the ladies’ room.

Thankfully it was empty, and she went straight to one of the basins and braced her hands on the countertop, employing her breathing tactics for the second time that day. She had to stop reacting to him like this, had to stop allowing his very presence to unsettle her so much.

But seeing him with Clara, watching him cuddle and cradle her. It had been too much. The tears snuck up on her. One second she was staring at her face in the mirror, and the next she could barely see her reflection because of the blistering tears seeping down her cheeks.

“Come on, Tina,” she implored her blurry likeness. “This is stupid. It was a lifetime ago.”

“Tina?”

Oh God.

She shut her eyes and scrubbed at her cheeks in an attempt to get rid of the tears, but she knew that her pale, blotchy complexion and red-rimmed, swollen eyes would give her away in an instant.

Did give her away in an instant.

She lifted her eyes to meet Harris’s in the mirror. He looked concerned. Of course he looked concerned. She was crying like an idiot.

“This is the ladies’ room,” she said inanely, possibly the stupidest thing she had said to him to date.

“I know that,” he said, his lips kicking up at the corners.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“I know that too. In fact, I feel like I should be taking notes and pictures for all male kind. This isn’t at all what I was expecting.”

He ventured farther into the room, deliberately releasing her eyes and giving her an opportunity to gather herself, while he allowed his gaze to roam around the space. Tina gratefully yanked up some tissues from the box on the countertop and dabbed at her wet face before swiping at her nose. She could do nothing to disguise the bloodshot eyes and unattractive red splotches on her otherwise pale skin. She was an ugly crier . . . a redhead’s curse.

“What were you expecting?” she asked, more for the sake of keeping the conversation neutral than anything else.

“I don’t know . . . candy floss machines, perfumes, hand creams. Girlie stuff. It looks like the men’s bathroom, only without the urinals.”