Chapter 4
Four
Conway
C hecking the time on my watch, I’ve got two minutes to spare as I step up to the entrance to Bake Me Happy , Grace’s bakery, and the spot she told me to meet her today when she finally tucked her tail between her legs and texted me to set up a time, presumably after the principal shut her down. The sweet, sugary scent of pastries hits me as I walk inside, and I note the handful of occupied tables around the area. This isn’t the first time I’ve been in here, and there always seems to be a steady stream of customers.
If I’m not mistaken, Grace opened this storefront around the time her second was born, and from the looks of it over the years, she’s done pretty well as far as making a name for herself in the community and building her business. I get in line behind the two couples in front of me, scanning behind the counter, not seeing her, but she’s probably in the back. When it’s my turn, a guy who looks like he can’t be older than eighteen smiles up at me warmly, his name tag reading “Storm.”
Odd choice of a name for a human.
“Welcome in, sir,” he says, nauseatingly enthusiastic. “What can I get for you?”
“Actually, I’m here to meet with Grace.”
His brow furrows behind his round, wire-framed glasses. “Are you interviewing for the Assistant Manager position?”
“What? No.” Gesturing vaguely toward the back, I say, “We’re on the PTA together, and she told me to meet her here at”—I check my watch again—“five minutes ago.”
“Oooh.” Storm chuckles. “Grace isn’t back yet, but I can show you to her office where you can wait for her, if you’d like.”
A flash of annoyance flares in my chest. “She isn’t here?”
“Correct. She had some errands to run, but she should be back soon.” Looking mildly uncomfortable, Storm slowly walks toward the swinging door, glancing back at me hesitantly. “Do you, uh, want to wait in her office?”
Heaving a sigh, I clench my molars as I walk t the side of the counter with an opening. “I suppose,” I grumble.
How the hell is it possible that a woman who runs a seemingly successful business can be as unorganized and late as Grace is? I swear to god, she’ll be late to her own funeral. Storm leads me to what looks like a renovated storage closet at best, beaming up at me as he gestures to the small white desk in the center.
“Feel free to sit at her desk. She won’t mind.” Oh, something tells me she will absolutely mind . “And again, Grace should be back any minute. Want some water or coffee while you wait?”
“I’m fine,” I clip out. “Thank you.”
Rounding the desk, I drop down in the pink rolling chair, eyes taking in the small, windowless room. Dozens of square, black-framed photos hang on the wall in front of me, various pictures filling them. A lot of her two kids, Beau and Blakely, plenty of her and her sisters, her parents, her and her twin brother, Graham. In between the carefully constructed frames are little flowers and hearts pressed into the ivory painted wall like stickers of some sort.
A corner bookshelf sits to my right. Books, candles, and plants decorate the four shelves, twinkle lights strategically placed under each shelf, illuminating everything. Her desk is mostly clear of any clutter, surprisingly, save for a glittery pink cup that holds her pens and a pink heart-shaped pad of sticky notes.
Woman’s really into pink.
Another five minutes pass before the door finally opens. I sit back in the chair, clasping my fingers together behind my head. “How nice of you to finally show up to the meeting, Sin.”
Her eyes narrow as she closes the door, hanging her bag on the hook behind it. “What are you doing in my office?” she snaps. “And quit calling me that. It’s not nearly as funny as you think it is.”
“Never said it was,” I drawl. “And your kind and friendly employee suggested I wait in here since you weren’t here.” Sitting up, I rest my elbows on the desk. “You know, it’s funny. You set up this meeting, requested it be here , and you can’t even be bothered to be on time.”
Grace rolls her eyes and grumbles. “God, get over yourself. I’m barely late. There was a fender bender by the bank that caused traffic. Sue me.” Meeting my gaze, her eyebrows raise, and she snaps her fingers. “And get the hell out of my seat. There’s a chair over there you can sit in.”
Rising to my feet, I stare down my nose at her, the left side of my mouth tipped up. “So bossy,” I tease, then add under my breath as I pass by her, “Somebody oughta discipline the attitude right out of you.”
Behind me, I hear Grace suck in a breath before she grits out, “Excuse me, Dad, what did you just say to me?”
Grabbing the black metal folding chair and opening it, I set it a few feet away from her chair and drop onto it, glancing over at her. “I think you heard me, Sin.” Her scowl deepens as she sits, and I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face. “Now, can we get started, please? I’ve got to get back to the job site soon, and some of us prefer to actually be where we say we will on time.”
The urge to snap back with something sassy is on the tip of her tongue. I can see it in the tightness in her jaw and the flare of her nostrils. Surprisingly, she doesn’t argue with me. Instead, she opens a drawer in the desk I hadn’t noticed before, bringing out a large notepad—shocking, the paper is light pink—and setting it on the desk before plucking out a pen from the cup in the corner.
Clearing her throat and brushing a strand of hair out of her face, she says, “I was thinking a carnival would be a good idea.”
“A carnival?” I parrot. “We are not doing that.”
Her narrowed gaze slices to me. “And why the hell not?”
“Because it’s a school fundraiser,” I offer. “It doesn’t need to be extravagant.”
“What’s the problem with wanting to make it fun? They’re always so boring.”
I huff, sitting up and pressing my elbows into my knees as I level her with a look. “The problem is that you can’t be on time to save your damn life, and I don’t have the time or, frankly, the patience, to put up with that. I have a business to run and employees and clients who depend on me to get shit done.”
Grace scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. Her shirt hides her cleavage, so I’m fortunately not tempted to check her tits out this time. “Newsflash, dick, you aren’t the only one who runs a business.” As if to make her point, she twirls a finger, gesturing to the space around us.
“How you run your business is none of my concern,” I deadpan. “And business aside, you’re unorganized. I’d prefer to do the bare minimum, knowing how you are. At least for this first fundraiser. If, after we successfully organize this one, you prove to me that you’re serious about it, we can discuss making the next one more your style.”
With her lips pursed and brow creased, she glowers at me. It’s clear, and amusing, that she’s pissed. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s not used to people being straight with her. Grace is Blossom Beach’s sweetheart. To everybody she encounters, she’s friendly and charming and full of sunshine. Well, everybody but me, apparently. And Maggie Ulrich. She may hate her more than she hates me.
Finally, she blows out a breath, pen tapping incessantly on the pad of paper. “I know you have a Ph-fucking-D in mansplaining, and I’m sure most people humor your asshole-ness, but I don’t have the patience for you and your enlarged ego that’s clearly compensating for other areas you’re lacking in.” Her gaze blatantly drops to my crotch, the insinuation clear, before coming back up to my face, and she puts on the brattiest smile. “So, Mr. Ultra Organized and Always on Time, what did you have in mind, then? I’m sure it’s riveting.”
This. Fucking. Woman.
“We should stick with the coupon books that we’ve utilized in the past,” I say. “They’re easy to put together, effective in collecting funds, and it’s little to no effort on our part. It’s smart.”
“And boring,” she scoffs. “We’re not doing that. It’s not exciting and people always forget to complete them. No. Nice try.”
“Well, the carnival isn’t happening either, so unless you have another idea floating around in that pretty little head of yours, I’d say we’re at an impasse.”
Grace rolls her eyes, and the sight has me wondering how satisfying it would feel to bend her over this desk right here and spank her nice round ass. I have no doubt she’d enjoy it too.
“What about an auction?” she suggests.
I sit back in the uncomfortably small chair and gesture a hand toward her. “I’m listening.”
“It could be held in the gym at the school, and we could ask various businesses around town to donate their services. Like, say, my bakery could donate a dozen cupcakes for the cause, and people would bid on them.”
Actually not a bad idea. “And who would we reach out to for donations?”
“Any and all businesses in the area,” she says. “Tonight, when I’m at Beau’s baseball practice, I can compile a list of businesses. Then we can divvy up that list, and each of us will be responsible for reaching out to those places for donations.” She shrugs. “That seems like the easiest and fairest way to do it.”
My gaze fixed on hers, I don’t answer right away. I take in the messy bun on top of her head, the way it’s more on one side than centered, and the way strands poke out of it as if she woke up like that and didn’t bother fixing it. Not surprisingly, her black shirt has flour all over it, despite her not even being in the kitchen when I got here. The whole look makes her appear flustered, yet it somehow works for her. The thick bed of lashes surrounding her vibrant green eyes and the splash of pink on her cheeks, the natural pout to her shimmering lips, even down to the neon pink polish on her nails. While infuriating and bratty, Grace is stunning.
Given our history and her vehement distaste for me, I shouldn’t be noticing my attraction to her, but I can’t help it. It wasn’t always there, of course, and I know exactly when it started. But she’s my son’s ex, and admitting, even to myself, that the night she kissed me, then swiftly chewed my ass out before slamming my truck door, undoubtedly changed the way I saw her is shitty. I mean, Christ, I was thirty-eight when that happened, and she was twenty.
Blowing out a breath and suddenly wanting to get out of the small confines of these four walls as quickly as possible, I mutter, “Fine. That works for me.”
“Really?” her eyebrows hike up.
“Yes, really.” Standing up, she does the same as I say, “I don’t have all day to sit here and go back and forth with you, so get me the list once you have it, and we can go from there.”
By the time I fold the chair and put it back in the corner, Grace is standing by the door, hand on the knob, but she hasn’t opened it yet. “How about we take the week to make all the calls, then meet again next week? Same time.”
With my gaze locked on hers, I nod and take two long strides toward her. “Sounds good, but you better show up on time.”
Like the brat she is, she rolls her eyes and mutters, “Sure thing, Dad.”
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m in front of her, bodies nearly flush as my palms press flat against the door on either side of her head, and I’m dipping my head down beside her ear as I say, “Watch yourself, Sin. With an attitude like that, you’re just asking to be put in your place.” She sucks in a breath, her breasts pressing into my chest from our proximity. “And trust me, you’d be calling me something if that were to happen, but it wouldn’t be Dad .”
Exhaling a shaky breath, Grace doesn’t say anything, and when I pull back, her pupils are dilated and her lips are parted, clearly as surprised as I am by what just came out of my mouth. Clearing my throat, I school my features and ignore the thundering beat in my chest as I reach for the doorknob, forcing Grace to step to the side as I draw it open enough for me to slip through.
We share one last tense but silent glance before I leave. Back at the job site, I spend the rest of the afternoon wondering what the hell came over me in her office. It’s a miracle I make it to the end of the day without slicing a finger off or fucking anything up. It’s warmed significantly since this morning, the sun beating down on me as I climb into my truck and head to my ex-wife, Nicolette’s, house to pick up Willow. We share custody, splitting her time between us fifty-fifty. We live a few blocks away from one another, which makes the weekly exchanges easy, for the most part.
Parking in her driveway next to her new husband’s BMW, I climb out and make my way up their walkway. Rapping my knuckles on the screen door, Nicolette calls out, “Come in,” before poking her head around the corner in the kitchen. I step into the house and kick off my filthy shoes at the door, even though I don’t plan to be here very long, before sauntering farther into the house. Glancing up from the stove, where she’s fixing dinner, she smiles. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going.”
“Will’s in her room finishing packing her stuff,” she offers. “She’ll be down in a minute.”
“Oh, hey, man,” Tad, Nicolette’s husband, greets me as he waltzes into the kitchen.
Dragging my gaze over to him, I nod by way of greeting.
“Don’t forget, Willow starts gymnastics this week,” Nicolette reminds me just as my daughter comes downstairs. “It’s the day after tomorrow at six. You good to take her?”
“I already told you I was,” I breathe out.
Nicolette and I get along just fine, and we have a pretty good co-parenting relationship, but one of her favorite things to do is tell me about things I’m already well aware of, as if I’ve ever dropped the ball on a commitment I’ve made.
Chuckling, she says, “Okay, just making sure. I know you’re busy.”
I flit my gaze to Willow, a smile tugging on my lips. “Ready to go, Peanut?”
“Yeah!” She runs over to her mom, wrapping her arms around her. “Bye, Mom. Love you.” Then gives Tad a quick hug too. “Bye, Tad.”
At the truck, I take her bags from her, tossing them in the back before we climb in. “Hungry?” I ask as I back out of their driveway.
“Yeah, I’m starving. I didn’t like the snack they had at the after-school program.”
“Yeah? What was it?”
“It was the pretzel goldfish.” The way she says it, you’d think they offered her liver and onions. “I love pretzels and I love goldfish, but they aren’t supposed to be combined,” she adds with all the dramatic sass I’ve come to expect out of a ten-year-old girl.
My only other kid is Cole, who hasn’t been ten in many years. To say I was a bit rusty at raising a small child when Willow was born would be an understatement. Cole’s mom, Mel, was my first wife. We got married right out of high school when we found out she was pregnant. Cole’s delivery was traumatic for Mel, so one was enough for her, and I was fine either way. When we eventually divorced when Cole was thirteen, I had no plans of having any more kids. Then I met and married Nicolette and, surprisingly, got her pregnant on our honeymoon.
The marriage didn’t even last until our second anniversary before finding out she was cheating on me with her boss. While the marriage didn’t work and it took me a long time to get past the anger that came along with what she did, I could never regret any of it because it gave me the best surprise I could’ve asked for.
After my divorce—making it the second under my belt—I decided relationships weren’t for me. Especially because I found myself wondering a heck of a lot in the beginning if I’d ever be able to trust somebody again after Nicolette betrayed me. Things between us had been rocky, but that was something I never saw coming. I’d never felt so blindsided. Guess it left me a little jaded. Casual hookups are all I’ve been comfortable doing since, and it’s going just fine. I do better by myself. With the hours I work, it’s hard to find somebody who would put up with that. I’m practically married to my business, and I’m more than content to keep it that way.
Back at the house, Willow helps me whip up some dinner. I grill the hot dogs outside while she cooks the Kraft Mac & Cheese inside. About two years ago, she started asking me and her mom to let her help in the kitchen. It took me longer to come around to the idea than it did Nicolette, but only because it was much easier to cook it all myself, but once I saw how much Willow enjoyed helping and learning how to make various things, I felt like shit for waiting so long.
And now that she has like five or six things she can make herself under her belt, I must admit it’s nice to have the help.
Once the dogs are grilled to perfection—and by perfection , I mean nearly burned—I saunter into the house, setting them on the kitchen counter. “Almost done?” I ask Willow as I open the cupboard to grab a couple of plates out.
“I already did that!” she blurts out. “And yeah, it’s done. Just stirring in the cheese packets.”
“You did?” I scan the counters.
“Yup, set the table already.”
“Well, look at you go, missy.” I gently squeeze her shoulder as I pass her. “What do you want to drink?”
“Do we have lemonade?”
Opening the fridge, I take a quick inventory. “We don’t, but we do have that vitamin water you like.”
“Oooh, I’ll take that, please.”
After we dish up, we sit down at the table and dig in. The noodles could’ve been cooked a minute or two longer, but I don’t tell her that. She’s getting the hang of it, and I love watching her confidence bloom as she learns each new thing. Cole never had any interest in anything that had to do with the kitchen, and I doubt that’s changed since he moved out. Raising kids so far apart in age and so vastly different than one another is an interesting experience.
“How was school?” I ask.
She shrugs and smiles. “Good.”
“What was the best part of your day?”
Willow used to be a chatterbox, but as she gets a little older, it’s sometimes like pulling teeth getting her to talk about her day. “You wouldn’t get it, Dad. You’re a boy, and kind of old,” she told me, with a straight face, the one and only time I asked why she doesn’t tell me all about her days.
“Oh!” Bouncing in her seat, Willow holds out her arm and says, “Blakely made us friendship bracelets. They match!”
At the mention of Blakely, her mom and the interaction we had at the bakery earlier, pop into my mind.
“That was nice of her,” I offer before shoveling another bite into my mouth.
“Yeah.” She nods and smiles, twisting her bracelet around her little wrist. “Can we have a sleepover soon, Dad? Pleaaaase! ”
A chuckle rumbles in my chest at the puppy dog eyes and pouty lip she’s giving me. “I’m sure we can make that happen.”
Willow squeals excitedly, and we finish eating.
“Wanna watch a movie before bed?” I ask her as we clear the table.
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. I got a cool book from the library today, and I think I’d rather read that, if that’s okay.”
“Course it’s okay, peanut.” Bumping her with my hip as I come to a stop at the sink beside her, I say, “How about I do the dishes tonight while you take a shower? Then you can read when you’re done.”
A grin stretches across her face as she jumps up excitedly, and says, “Okay, thanks, Dad,” before disappearing down the hall.
My phone goes off on the counter while I’m finishing the dishes, and when I glance at it, my chest squeezes when it’s Grace’s name I read on the screen. It’s the list of businesses she promised to put together tonight. I’m a little surprised she did it as quickly as she said she would. My mind goes back to her office earlier this afternoon. The way she acts toward me, and the way I reacted to it. It’s a bad idea, but I can’t help but crave another encounter like that. The vision of her wide-eyed look of shock by what I said to her is enough to have my cock twitching in my pants.
Riling her up shouldn’t be as much fun as it is, especially when school just started. We have a lot of time still that we have to work together. If I keep this up, it’s sure to blow up in my face. I’ve got to work on controlling my reactions to her before next week.