Page 7

Eve

“ I know you’re home.” He knocks on my door. “You might as well open up because I’m not leaving until you do.”

What is he doing here? Isn’t he supposed to be at a stupid baseball game with Gemma and his nephew? I ignore the jackass making a scene. Even as he continues to call out. Now, instead of knocking, he’s pounding on the door.

I storm out of what was my husband’s former office—now my newly transformed craft room—and peek through the window. How does he make jeans and a polo shirt look so good? Like he just came off the cover of a men’s magazine.

“Leave, or I’m calling the cops,” I yell back.

“Trust me, you want to open up. For Gemma’s sake.”

What nerve! Just because women are infatuated with his looks, because there’s no way in hell they aren’t, he thinks he can tell me what to do and I’ll fall in line? Coming here and pounding on my door is one thing. He went too far by invoking my daughter’s name. He woke the mama bear in me.

I yank open my front door, not because it’s what he wants me to do, but so I can look him in the eye and let him know what happens when you threaten my daughter. I narrow my eyes at him, searching for the inner strength to tell him where he can go.

“If you touch one hair on my daughter’s head,” I say, ignoring the cocky smile on the jerk’s face. A disarming smile he’s no doubt using to soften me up and throw me off my game. “One fingernail. I swear I will cut off—”

“Whoa,” he holds his hands up and inches closer to me. “You misunderstood. I would never harm Gemma, or any woman for that matter,” he says as if I’m crazy for having such thoughts.

“Then what is all this business about Gemma’s sake?” The corners of his lips turn up into a smile, which pisses me off even more. “What, are you going to cancel her on social media?”

“No. Nothing like that. And I think you’re confused. Hurry up and grab your things,” he says with a playful tone. “Unless you want to be a grandmother in the next nine months.”

“How dare you!” My hands land on his chest, and I shove the bastard back. Too bad the surface behind him is flat. I’d love to see him fall on his ass.

As the aggressor, I take a step closer. “Where do you come off insinuating that my daughter—” I poke him in his rock-hard, chiseled from stone chest as I shout at the self-centered, over-privileged man in front of me. “Wants anything to do with you? ”

His long, calloused fingers wrap around my wrist. “Enough. That came out wrong. But while I’m standing here with you, Gemma and Teddy are alone in the car, and I need help keeping some distance between those two.”

“They live at school. What makes you think they don’t already do whatever it is that you’re concerned about.”

“At least there, they’re likely to make sure they’re safe.” He looks back at the limousine in front of my house. “The excitement of the day is getting to them, and honestly, playing babysitter isn’t my thing.”

“You think it’s mine?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?” Of course he’s a misogynist; he’s a man. He sounds just like my husband. “Excuse me, a woman with no life and no responsibilities?”

“I never said that.”

“It’s implied, Mr. Grimm. It’s implied.”

He closes his dark eyes and shakes his head. “That’s not why I want you to come. Let’s start this over.”

“You think you’re special, don’t you?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“In real life, you don’t get a do-over every time something doesn’t go your way. You make mistakes, you have to live with the consequences.” What is wrong with me? I’m overreacting, just the way Brandon used to accuse me of doing.

Looking deflated, he turns his head and stares, I’m not sure at what.

“I don’t know what your problem is.” His calm demeanor slips away.

“Maybe I should’ve sat in the stands with my mouth shut.

Maybe you would’ve said something you’d regret about Teddy or his parents, and you would’ve been embarrassed when you learned who I was.

I don’t know. What I do know is I’ve been trying to smooth things over with you ever since.

And this was supposed to be a sort of apology gift to you. ”

“First,” I tick off my points on my fingers. “I don’t know you well enough to get any sort of gift from you. Second, people don’t give apology gifts, and third, if they do, the gift is usually something the person you’re apologizing to likes, wants, or needs.”

“Come with us and tell me how to apologize to you properly. That way, I’ll know for next time.”

Oh my goodness, he doesn’t give up. It’s flattering in a way, but I can’t play this game. Especially not with someone who knows my daughter and can influence her happiness.

“Next time?” I raise a brow. “Why would you think there’s going to be a next time, Mr. Grimm?”

“I told you, call me Tate.”

“You don’t like me. So why do you want me to come?”

He shrugs. “I just do. I know losing your husband must be difficult, and today is supposed to be a fun outing. I thought you might enjoy it. If you hate it, I’ll join you in complaining because I don’t really want to go either.”

“Do I look that pathetic?” It’s a real question, not something said to antagonize him.

“Not at all.” He extends his hand toward my head, which makes me worry a leaf or something flew in my hair. “May I? ”

I nod, wanting him to remove whatever it is he sees. To my surprise, he pulls out my claw clip. Threading his fingers through my hair, he spreads it out and over my shoulders.

“You look sad,” he says, cupping my face. “Beautiful,” he’s quick to add. “But very sad.”

Why is there a swirling sensation in my belly?