Page 40 of The Live-In Temptation (Steele Brothers of Starlight Cove #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHLOE

Volunteering in a pre-K classroom sounded fun and easy. Clearly, I was an idiot. And clearly, I wasn’t familiar with the havoc that reigned when fifteen kids were armed with glue sticks, pipe cleaners, and enough glitter to make the New Year’s Eve ball in Times Square sparkle.

Emma stood behind the craft table, absolutely glowing in her Art Queen smock, her cheek streaked with purple paint. “LoLee, look!” She held up what I thought might be a paper cat and beamed at me.

“Now, that is a masterpiece. We need to book it its own gallery showing.”

Emma giggled and thrust it toward me, flapping it around in the air like a wind sock. “I made it for you! For being the best LoLee in the whole world !”

I took it with a slight bow. “I’ve never been more honored.”

She laughed at my awful British accent and turned to help a classmate glue feathers on a paper crown while I glanced around for anyone who needed a little assistance.

The day had been frenzied and sweet in the way that only existed in preschool. It was messy and loud, but I was so grateful I was here to experience it with my little doodlebug.

“My mom said you’re not Emma’s real mom.”

The statement came out of nowhere, the little boy’s voice cutting through the laughter and shrieks like a needle popping a balloon.

I turned to find that same little asshole from the fire station looking up at me, his mouth full of Goldfish crackers.

“She said you just get paid to be nice ’cause you’re her babysitter, and that’s what babysitters do.” He shrugged like he hadn’t just punched a hole through my soul with his words.

I shot my gaze to Emma, hoping— praying —she hadn’t heard him because she didn’t need to deal with this again. But of course, she was staring right at him, her smile collapsing in slow motion.

Then that little shit walked off, unaware or uncaring of the bomb he’d just dropped in the middle of the arts and crafts station. Sounds started up again, kids squealing and laughing and fighting, but all I could focus on was Emma.

She glanced up at me, her eyes sad and worried. “Is that why you’re nice to me, LoLee? Cause Daddy gives you money?”

“Bug,” I said, my heart breaking right along with hers.

I squatted down to her level and reached for her hand.

“I’m nice to you because I love you. Not because it’s my job to look after you or because I get paid to.

I think you’re the most amazing little girl in the whole world, and that is why I’m nice to you. Not because I have to be.”

She stared at me for a beat, her gaze assessing in a way that should’ve been reserved for someone ten times her age.

Then she nodded like she accepted my answer, but I’d already watched the light fade from her eyes.

Watched her shoulders slump a bit, that bottom lip quivering like she was trying so hard not to cry.

It almost broke me.

I wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her into my side. “I think we deserve matching sparkle crowns. What do you say?”

“Okay.” She smiled at me, but it wasn’t her usual beaming grin. It was thinner. Sadder.

Like she wanted to break so badly but had to hold it together for just a bit longer.

Xander was working late, so I put Emma down that night. I lay stretched out on her bed, and she was tucked under my arm, curled into my side like always. Instead of clutching Pinkie to her chest, she gripped the hem of my sweatshirt like if she let go I might float away.

I told her a story of a brave little princess who was teased that her favorite star only shone because the queen demanded it to. But the princess knew better because that star showed up every night, just for her, even when no one was looking.

Bedtime was usually full of laughter and stories and too many just one more drinks of water, but tonight, it was eerily silent, a heaviness having settled in the house the moment we’d stepped through the door after preschool.

“When you leave, will you say goodbye first?” Emma asked, her small voice breaking through the stillness.

My throat squeezed tight, my eyes and nose stinging, hands shaking as if my whole body rejected her words. She was smart—probably the smartest four-year-old I’d ever met. And, somehow, she knew not to ask me if I was staying. And she knew not to ask me not to leave.

She was only asking for a goodbye.

Blinking away the tears, I swallowed down the lump in my throat and held out my pinkie toward her. “Pinkie promise.”

She tipped her head back and glanced up at me before hooking her finger around mine. Then she snuggled deeper into my side, and I stroked a hand down her hair, pressing my nose against the crown of her head and inhaling deeply.

Emma was asleep within minutes, her little body going limp against mine, but I lay next to her for a long time, not ready to leave just yet. Because I knew the second I moved, this would all be real.

So instead, I stayed right there, my arms wrapped around her as if I could shield her from this wreckage I’d built with my own hands.

I shouldn’t have stayed this long. Should’ve left before she needed me. Before she loved me.

And I definitely should’ve left long before I fell in love with either of them.