Chapter 2 Glitter, Guilt, and Gravity
Glitter, Guilt, and Gravity
Enrick
Desiree’s pacing the living room like a caged panther, phone pressed to her ear, and I can’t stop watching. The twinkling lights from our massive Fraser fir catch in her burgundy braids with each agitated pass.
Six years of avoidance, and now Desiree Reynolds is standing in my brother’s house three days before Christmas, wearing jeans that should come with a warning label.
I should be reviewing flood-gate schematics for the Winter Bay Waterfront Redevelopment instead of staring like a lovesick idiot. Being Chief Design Engineer at my brother’s firm means duty never stops, but right now, work has nothing on Desiree in motion.
“Yes, I understand you’re full,” she says into the phone. “You don’t have anything? Not even a shed? What about a supply closet? I’ve stayed in worse.” Her free hand slices the air in frustration. “Seriously? Not even that?”
I should feel guilty about the satisfaction that floods me. I don’t. Not when I’ve hoped for a chance to fix what’s broken between Desiree and me.
“Enrick, stop staring at the poor girl and help me cut more of these snowflake stencils,” Gina calls from the kitchen, laughter bubbling under her words.
My sister-in-law has been trying to get details about Bella’s mother for years, and now that Desiree’s here in the flesh, Gina’s glowing with delight.
“The kids are fighting over the few we have, and someone’s going to end up crying. ”
“In a minute,” I mutter, unable to look away as Desiree ends her call and immediately starts scrolling through her phone again.
“That’s what you said ten minutes ago,” Maverick observes from his spot by the fireplace. “Just go talk to her.”
Easy for him to say. He didn’t spend five years regretting the words and actions that drove away the only woman he ever let close. The only woman he’d ever been with, period. He didn’t lie awake replaying every moment, wondering if he’d handled things differently...
If I hadn’t let Maverick’s experience with Penelope’s mother—his ex-wife who’d use their daughter as leverage for money—poison me against Desiree. If I hadn’t assumed Desiree was just another woman after my money.
Holy hell, I’d been such an idiot.
“Daddy, come see what I made!” Bella races over, holding up a wooden ornament covered in white paint and glitter. “It’s you!”
“It’s perfect, princess.” I scoop her up, grateful for the distraction. She smells like the macadamia-and-honey shampoo Desiree uses on her hair.
“See? This is your smile, and this glitter is because you’re sparkly when you’re happy.” She points to various paint blobs with proud precision. “And I made it white like your skin!”
My throat tightens. “I love it. Should we hang it on your bedroom tree when you go to bed tonight?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes! But first...” She grows suddenly serious. “I need to make one of Mommy too. So I have both of you.” She squirms down. “I need the brown paint for her skin.”
Then she charges back to the dining room where the other kids are busy proving why Gina was smart enough to cover the table in plastic.
When I turn back, Desiree’s watching us, her expression unreadable. The gray winter light dulls everything around her, yet somehow catches the gold undertones in her deep brown skin, highlights the curve of her cheekbones and the fullness of her lips.
Holy hell, she’s even more beautiful than I remember. Softer in some ways, stronger in others. There’s self-assurance in the way she stands now, a steadiness that wasn’t there six years ago.
Motherhood looks good on her.
Life without me looks good on her.
The thought twists like a knife.
“Any luck?” I ask, moving closer.
She shakes her head, and her burgundy braids sway against her delectable ass with the movement. “None. The hotels are booked solid. The airport’s shut down. I even talked to Cassidy. She’s snowed in too. Looks like Jamaica’s officially canceled.”
“Your friend you were traveling with?”
“Yeah,” she says, sinking onto the couch with a weary chuckle. “She’s stuck with her ex. So really, neither of us caught a break.”
Her tone is light, but there’s resignation beneath it, and before I can stop myself, I’m wondering what else she told Cassidy about being stuck here. About me.
Over the years, I’ve slipped a few harmless questions into conversations with Bella—casual mentions of Mommy’s friends, what they do together, that sort of thing. I always stop before it sounds like fishing, but I still listen for any male names that come up. So far, nothing but Aunt Cass.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “About the vacation. About... a lot of things.”
Her eyes snap to mine, wary. “Enrick—”
“I know we agreed not to do this,” I cut her off, because if I don’t say it now, I might not get another chance. “To keep things strictly about Bella. But you’re here, and—”
“Uncle!” Penelope—Penny—my fourteen-year-old niece, bounds over. “Mom says to ask Aunt Desiree if she has any food allergies. She’s making spaghetti for supper.”
Desiree turns to Penny. “No allergies. But really, I don’t want to impose—”
“Are you kidding? Mom’s been dying to meet you. She says it’s weird she’s known Bella forever and never met her mom.”
“Penny,” I warn, but she’s already dancing away, laughing.
Desiree raises an eyebrow. “Good to know I make for interesting dinner conversation.”
“My family has... opinions about my personal life.”
“Or lack thereof,” Maverick adds helpfully as he passes by. “Six years is too long to pine.”
“I’m going to murder him,” I mutter, and Desiree surprises me by laughing.
“Your family seems nice,” she says. “Very...”
“Overwhelming? Intrusive? Likely to embarrass me at every opportunity?”
“I was going to say warm.” Her expression softens. “Bella’s lucky to have all this.”
The wistfulness in her voice kills me. “Desiree—”
“I should check on her.” She stands abruptly. “Make sure she’s not making a mess.”
But I’m already on my feet, blocking her path. “Wait.”
We’re too close. Close enough that I can see the flecks of amber in her brown eyes, feel the heat radiating from her body.
Those five weeks after our night together—before everything went to hell—we’d text constantly. Morning greetings, lunch break check-ins, late-night conversations that stretched until dawn. Planning my next trip to Atlanta, her first visit to Winter Bay.
Then she called with the news of her pregnancy, and I destroyed it all with my accusations.
She tilts her head back to look at me, and the gesture takes me right back to Atlanta, to a hotel room where she arched her neck just like this while I kissed my way down—
“Enrick.” She presses a hand to my chest, and I don’t know if she’s pushing me away or holding on. “We can’t do this. I’m only here because of the storm.”
“No.” I cover her hand with mine, trapping it against my racing heart. “You’re here because Patricia broke her hip. Because fate or God or the universe decided six years was long enough.”
“Don’t...”
“I still want you.” The admission tears from my throat. “Seeing you today, having you here, it’s taking everything I have not to—”
“Mommy! Daddy! Come see!” Bella’s voice breaks the spell, and Desiree ducks under my arm, escaping.
“Coming, baby!” Desiree calls, not looking back at me.
I take a moment to breathe, to adjust myself in my jeans, and to calm the fuck down. But when I follow her to the dining room and see her laughing with Gina and helping Bella with her tree, I realize I don’t want her to leave.
Dinner is loud and messy, with five kids talking over each other. I’m helping Isa with her spaghetti when Gina asks Desiree about work.
“Mommy’s really smart,” Bella announces proudly. “She helps people make their businesses famous on the internet.”
“Is that right?” I catch Desiree’s eye, and something warm passes between us. Pride. The acknowledgment that we made this brilliant, confident little girl together.
“Well, I try,” Desiree says modestly. “I’m a social media manager at a small marketing agency. And I’m taking night classes in human resources.”
“I thought your degree was in social work?”
“It is, but after getting—” She glances at Bella, at all the kids, and her expression shutters. “social work wasn’t for me.”
There’s a story there, something dark she’s protecting the kids from hearing. What the hell happened to her? I make a mental note to ask her about it later.
“Good on you for finding out sooner than later,” Gina says warmly. “What made you decide to go back to school?”
“My boss encouraged me to do so .” Desiree glances at Bella, who’s making a spaghetti beard with Isa. “She wants to promote me, which will mean more for B’s investment bonds.”
Investment bonds. Not spending money. Savings for our daughter’s future. Because that’s who Desiree is.
In five years, she’s never requested a dime beyond the nanny’s salary, Bella’s health insurance, and private school costs. Made it crystal clear through my lawyer—the same one who oversaw that goddamn paternity test—that all contact between us goes through him or Patricia.
When Bella weaned herself at three months, Desiree was the one who suggested the month-in-month-out visitation schedule so the nanny could travel with our daughter between states and we could have her equally.
No drama. No demands. Just practical solutions that put Bella first.
I’d done her a huge disservice by accusing her of being a gold digger.
Maverick catches my eye across the table, one eyebrow raised. He knows exactly what I’m thinking. What I’ve been thinking for three months, ever since Bella started kindergarten and our routine changed.
He and I have been talking for six months about my working remotely from Atlanta, managing the Winter Bay project with biweekly site visits once we’re past the critical phase next fall. Maverick’s been more than understanding—actually encouraging me to go.
But that’s still months away. Nine more months of missing the daily bustle Desiree gets to experience in Atlanta, from the rushed morning routines where Bella probably protests getting dressed to the after-school struggles over healthy snacks and random Tuesday afternoon giggles.
And even then, I can’t just walk away. Maverick raised me after our parents died when I was sixteen. Worked two jobs to put me through college. Built this firm from nothing and made me Chief Design Engineer. I owe him everything.
Still, watching Desiree at my family’s table, seeing how Bella lights up with both of us here—holy hell, how have we been doing this for five years?
How do I keep doing it for nine more months?
After dinner, while the kids watch a movie, I show Desiree to the guest suite. It’s right next to my room—an intentional setup on my part.
“Gina left some clothes on the bed,” I say, trying not to imagine her naked. “They’re all new with tags.”
Desiree fingers the soft fabrics. “This is too much. I have clothes—”
“You can’t wear the stuff you planned to wear in Jamaica while you’re stuck here.” I push off the doorframe, moving closer. Close enough that the vanilla and orange blossom scent of her wraps around me. “Let me take care of you, sweetness.”
She goes still, her back to me, shoulders tensing. When she turns, there’s fire in her eyes. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” I take another step, closing the distance between us.
“Because I hate it. It reminds—” She cuts herself off, turning away again, but I’m already there.
I catch her wrist, turning her back to face me. “Reminds you of what?”
“Never mind.” But her breathing’s already changed, gone shallow and quick.
“You want to know what I think?” I back her up until she hits the wall. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t tell me to stop. “ It reminds you of how good we were together. Doesn’t it?”
“Enrick...”
“Makes you wonder what it would be like now.” I brace my hands on either side of her. “Because now that we’re older, we know what we want.”
“And what do you want?”
“You.” I lean in until my lips hover just above the curve of her neck.
Not touching, but she tilts her head anyway, baring her throat in unconscious invitation.
“I want you in my bed, under me, over me, any way I can have you. I want you at my breakfast table looking thoroughly fucked and satisfied. I want you exactly where you are right now, looking at me like you’re trying to decide whether to kiss me or knee me in the balls. ”
She lets out an unsteady laugh. “I’m leaning toward the second option.”
“Desiree.” I finally give in, nuzzling into the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, and she shivers.
Her hands come up to my chest. “We’re probably stuck here for a few days.
No running away, no hiding behind Patricia.
Let’s figure out if this thing between us is just us remembering what we had, or if there’s actually something still here. ”
“And then what?” Her voice shakes. “What happens when the snow stops? We pretend this never happened? I can’t do that, Enrick. I can’t do casual with you.”
“Who said anything about casual?” I meet her eyes. “What if we use this time to figure out what we are? What we could be?”
She leans into my touch for half a heartbeat when I cup her cheek, then she steps back. “I need to check on Bella.”
“Des—”
“Goodnight, Enrick.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me hard and aching and more determined than ever.
Outside, the storm rages on, and I smile.
Let it snow. Let it trap her here through Christmas morning. I’ve waited five years for a second chance with Desiree Reynolds—what better gift than time?