Ember In The Heart

Jenna Green was a brat. I leaned across the table. “That’s not true, honey.”

“But Mommy went away.”

“For a job. A very important job.” I didn’t know if that was true and truth be told, I didn’t think there was any job more important than being a mom. As far as I was concerned, that was the deal you made with the universe once you had a kid.

“Jenna Green said her mommy said being a mommy is an impotnant job and that my mommy didn’t love me because she thought Parees was more impotnant than me.” Tears shone in Georgie’s eyes and she looked seconds from bawling her eyes out.

Jenna Green’s mother was on my shit list.

I quickly waved down Geraldine. “We’re just going to the bathroom, we’re not leaving.”

“Sure thing, Em. I’ll watch your stuff.”

“Thanks.” I stood and scooped up Georgie before she could protest. She was heavier than she looked and I had to shift her onto my hip. I was grateful she looped her arms around my neck and let me take her to the restroom. Locking the door behind me, I gently lowered Georgie to her feet, noted the tears had sprung loose, and got down to her level to hug her tight. She wrapped her little arms around me and feeling her trembles, hearing her little hiccups, I had to hold back my own tears. This angel had rapidly gotten under my skin.

Eventually I eased her away and rummaged in my purse for tissues to dab at her cheeks.

“Honey, your mom loves you,” I told her, sure it had to be true. “She just needed to do this and she knows how much you love your dad and she thought it might be great for you to spend more time with him.” I shouldn’t be lying to a five-year-old. I knew that. But I couldn’t have her thinking her mom didn’t like her. “And your dad is so happy to have you with him.”

To my shock, she didn’t look certain of that either.

Despite my conflicted feelings about Foster, there was no doubt in my mind that he loved his kid.

Yet, it seemed her mother’s abandonment had filled Georgie with insecurities no kid should feel.

Time to chat with Foster.

After our talk in the bathroom, we’d returned to our table but Georgie lost her appetite so we went home. Not long later Foster arrived. Leaving Georgie to watch a cartoon in a living room that had been transformed, apparently overnight, by a team of stylists, I followed Foster into his office after asking to speak privately.

As I closed the double doors behind us, Foster leaned against his sturdy antique desk and crossed his arms over his chest. He hadn’t shaved in the last few days, his hair looked like he’d been running his hands through it, and there was a weariness in his eyes that made him look older than his twenty-five years.

Twenty-five.

When I was twenty-five, he was only fourteen.

I shuddered.

Don’t think about that.

“What’s going on? Is G okay?”

I told him about the incident in the diner.

Foster bit out a curse, turning to glare at a bookshelf. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing to her.”

“What else could you say,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

I sighed. “I’m telling you because obviously you need to know but also because I got the distinct impression that she doesn’t feel sure you’re happy she’s living with you full time.”

He glared at me incredulously. “What?”

“She’s five and extremely smart and intuitive for her age. No matter what we say, she feels, rightfully, abandoned by her mom. It’s made her insecure. You’re going to have to work overtime to make her feel wanted.”

Foster continued to glower at me.

So I forged ahead. “I understand you work in the city and you’re doing your best to get back home after office hours. I understand you probably still have to work through the night. But my advice is that Georgie needs stability. She needs your evenings while she’s awake to be all about her and she’ll need your weekends too. No working … and no …” I waved vaguely remembering the gorgeous redhead at the engagement party. “Women who aren’t permanent.”

“Are you done?”

My spine stiffened at his tone.

Foster pushed up off his desk and prowled toward me. I forced myself not to retreat.

“Who do you think you are, trying to school me on how to father my daughter?”

“I’m not trying to school you. It was advice.”

“And the insinuation that I’m the kind of father who not only ignores my daughter but brings strange women around her.”

Okay, so perhaps that was a little judgmental. “I only—”

“Maybe you should just keep your nose out of it.” He stopped so close to me we were almost touching. “My child, my business.”