Page 29 of Worth the Try (Atlanta Granite #1)

Elodie

I DIDN’T KNOW what to think when Sharon came over last night and declared it “girls’ night for Rosalie and Dolly,” but it was clear enough that she’d come at Ansel’s request, and that I was free the rest of the evening.

The good part was that Rosie was beyond thrilled.

The bad part was that I’d really been hoping to talk to Ansel.

So I texted him.

Hey—everything okay? Sharon came over, and she and Rosie have plans for the rest of the night.

ANSEL

Thank you. Lots on my mind, and I just needed some time to myself. I know I owe you an explanation.

I swallowed down the lump of emotion that threatened. For whatever reason, Ansel’s particular brand of honesty and earnestness really got to me. In a good way. Even though I was getting more and more frustrated at not knowing what was going on.

It’s okay

ANSEL

No, it’s still not okay.

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Since it was obvious he wasn’t in the mood to talk—he wouldn’t have taken off if he actually felt like discussing whatever was bothering him—I didn’t respond.

Instead, I blackened my screen and turned back to planning Allyson and Jake’s honeymoon.

I had plans on plans on plans for them to choose from.

Who knew that after eight years of working in corporate, I’d find my calling as a honeymoon planner?

I ended up falling asleep with the light on, and this morning I woke up to Cleocatra attempting to shred the spreadsheets I’d printed out at Ansel’s the other day.

Clearly, my cat has no issues with giving me her thoughts on the formatting I spent way too long on. And honestly? Valid. No one will ever see those spreadsheets but me.

After feeding her, cleaning the litter box, and taking a shower, I finally let myself think about the past couple of days.

Really think. Rosalie and I were followed and photographed, and Ansel hasn’t given me any sort of explanation.

In fact, he’s done the very opposite and avoided the heck out of me.

This, from the man who’d practically glued himself to my side over the past weeks whenever Rosie was out of sight.

And who’d cherished me with his body and mouth night after night after putting her to bed.

And last night, instead of coming home and finally telling me what in the world was going on, he just…bolted? And sent the neighbor over?

I think I might be mad.

No, I know I am.

I blink, spitting my toothpaste into the sink and rinsing. As I grab the mouthwash and tip back a capful, I try to decide if it’s weird to be proud of myself for getting mad. After all, New Elodie is trying very hard not to be so nice all the time. Look where it got me. So yeah. I’m mad.

“I’m mad,” I say to my reflection.

It sounds ridiculous coming out of my mouth.

“I’m mad ,” I repeat.

Then I giggle. Because only I would try saying I’m mad as some kind of affirmation. Still, the feeling of anger…it’s kind of nice. Nice in that I actually feel it.

Happy with myself, I finish getting ready and take myself over to the main house.

I find Ansel and Rosie exactly where I expect them to be: Rosie swinging her legs from her perch on the stool at the kitchen island, and Ansel frowning as he wrangles with her hair.

And even though I’m angry, I smile at them both.

“Will you give me fishbone braids, Elle Belle?” Rosie asks.

Ansel’s mouth tips into a crooked grin. “I did an image search for them, but I got confused.”

“Clearly,” I say, looking at the mess he’s created and grabbing the spray bottle to soak her curls. Leaning down to Rosalie, I tell her, “We can do it, but with your hair being so curly, it’s going to take some time.”

“Okay,” she says, going back to her coloring book. “I’m hungry.”

“Cereal okay this morning?” Ansel asks. “I need to leave a little early.”

At that, my anger increases to a simmer.

“Okay,” Rosie chirps again.

“Elodie?”

I glance up, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

“Can we—?” He gestures to the front.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Rosie, then walk out of the kitchen.

“Is everything okay?” Ansel asks when he joins me, his duffel already hanging on his shoulder.

“You tell me.” The words come out shaky as I cross my arms. My heart races.

His brow furrows, then clears as realization dawns. “You’re angry.”

“Yes!” I exclaim, torn between excitement that he understood and also, you know, being mad .

“You’re angry…with me ,” he continues, a flash of hurt crossing his expression.

“Yes,” I confirm again.

His shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, Elodie.”

“You should be,” I say, trying hard to lean into the anger, even though I really want to drop it. “Because I thought we had something.” My words dip, getting softer at the end. “Whatever we have, it’s early, I know, but?—”

He closes the distance and cups my face, staring down at me with such intensity that my breath catches. “No. It may be early, but that doesn’t change what this is.”

My heart squeezes, anger totally dropping in the wake of him. “You feel it, too?”

He nods, then presses his lips to mine. It’s a soft kiss, sweet and gentle, full of promises. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close and kissing him back with just as much emotion as he’s giving me.

With a groan, he releases me. His eyes search mine. “I’ll tell you everything tonight.”

I fist his T-shirt. “Promise?”

His lips quirk up. “If I don’t, will you get mad again?”

I smile back at the teasing. “Maybe.”

He kisses me again. “I like you mad. It looks good on you.” He lets me go and opens the door, then glances back. “Tonight. I promise.”

Then he’s gone, and I make my way back to the kitchen to start my day with Rosalie.

A few hours later, there’s a knock at the door. Frowning, I look to where Rosie sits on the floor, working on a puzzle. “I’ll be right back.”

I look through the peephole. A small-statured blonde woman stands on the other side, slim and beautiful. Wishing I could see if there was anyone else on the street with her, I let out a sigh and open the door.

The woman smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her blue eyes. “Hi, is this the Miles residence?”

I nod. “Can I help you?”

“Elle Belle!” Rosie darts up behind me, clasping her tiny arms around my thigh and peeking to the side of my hip. “Who is it?”

Immediately, the woman’s attention fixes on Rosalie.

And I know.

I know it with the certainty of gravity.

This is Rosie’s mother.

“I’m Lauren,” the woman says, kneeling to get a better look at her daughter. “What’s your name?”

“Rosalie,” she says shyly.

The woman’s smile grows, but there’s something oily about it. “It’s nice to meet you, Rosalie,” she coos. “I knew?—”

“Why don’t you go back to your puzzle, Rosie,” I say, cutting off whatever Lauren was about to say.

Rosie looks up at me, blinking those innocent hazel eyes before saying, “Okay!” She turns to run away, then pivots back to look at Lauren. “Nice to meet you!” Then she darts down the hall, her socked feet making no noise as she goes.

Lauren’s attention slides to me, the smile falling off her face.

I look her up and down. “You should leave.”

Her eyes narrow. “You aren’t going to invite me in?”

I bark out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

She tilts her head, studying me. A snake about to strike. “Tell me something,” she says. “When he fucks you, does he do that thing with his hips? You know the one,” she purrs.

My jaw drops as heat rushes to my face. Did she really just say that? “I—” I start, but nothing comes amid the rushing of static in my head. “Leave.”

I slam the door in her face, my heart pounding furiously. Behind it, all I hear is the sound of her laughter as she walks away.