Chapter Two
Present Day
As long as she lived, Eve would never judge a mother. Not ever again.
Raising kids was a physical and mental assault. A war waged in the trenches, but instead of grenades, the weapons were half-drunk
cups of apple juice and unflushed toilets. Being cute didn’t excuse the noise they emitted, either. The screeches that erupted
mere moments after peace had been achieved. The Encanto soundtrack slapped, but it didn’t slap this much. She wanted to slap herself at this point to make sure she could still feel
something. And she’d only been parenting for three weeks. Three.
By the time she hit six weeks of this warfare, she’d look exactly like the Barbie she stepped over now on the way to the bedroom
shared by Lark and Landon.
Fried, wearing a shirt as pants, staring into the void.
Yet somehow, she could still love her niece and nephew with her entire being, despite them trying to land her in an early
grave. Exactly why Eve hadn’t even hesitated when Ruth, her sister, had come to Eve and asked her to take temporary legal
custody of the children while she put herself through rehab, plus a comprehensive recovery program. Her friends had organized
an intervention and pooled resources to send Ruth where she needed to go.
I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Or if I’ll even succeed.
I’ve tried before and failed. I could very well fail again.
Please be sure you want the kids, because they could be with you for a long time.
Another one of those demonic screeches rent the air.
“No,” Eve said in a strangled whisper, stepping over the threshold into what used to be her yoga space that doubled as an
office. “No more screaming.”
“He keeps pretending to bite me,” Lark exclaimed, pointing at her twin brother.
Landon folded his hands together in his lap and giggled.
“Okay, but what that scream communicates to me is that he has not only bitten you, but completely severed a limb from your
body.” Holding on to her patient, even tone, Eve continued. “Before you scream, please ask yourself, is it worth it? You know?
Do I need to pierce the sound barrier over fake biting?”
“Yes,” Lark responded with a solemn nod.
That’s the other tragic thing about kids. They didn’t pick up on sarcasm.
What a waste.
“You guys promised me you would start getting ready for school.” Eve cataloged the room through a twitching eye. “But it looks
like you’ve just been breaking crayons. How did we get here?”
“Landon wants to wear a chef’s hat to school.”
“Can I?”
“Yes. As long as it isn’t the only thing you wear. I don’t see why not.”
“He wears it all the time,” Lark said, throwing up her hands.
Landon chomped on some air. “So?”
Lark screeched.
“Ah!” Eve wagged a finger at her, like an old schoolmarm instead of a twenty-two-year-old woman who owned a burlesque club. “Not warranted, that screech. Not even a little.”
“If he wears his chef’s hat, I’m wearing lipstick.”
“Fine. Let’s go. Clothes on. Breakfast is almost—” Ah shit. Eve backed into the hallway, sniffing the air, already knowing
the scent of charred sourdough was going to greet her. And it did. “Breakfast is definitely burned. I’m going to put down
two more pieces of toast. You two better be dressed by the time they pop up. Go.”
Okay, fine, they were cute when doing what they’re told. Lark turned and opened one of her designated drawers, which was built
into the bottom of the IKEA bunk bed Eve had put together over the weekend. Landon snagged yesterday’s jeans off the floor,
even though Eve specifically remembered him sitting in a puddle of syrup in them. Know what? She’d just pretend she didn’t
see that.
The smoke alarm went off.
“Cool. Our neighbors are going to love this,” Eve called over her shoulder, jogging into the kitchen to find one of her old
copies of Entrepreneur magazine, left over from a time when she could afford the subscription. She stood on one of the dining room chairs and fanned
the smoke detector with one hand, whipping her phone out of her back pocket with the other to determine the time. They were
running late. Of course they were.
“Please stop beeping,” Eve muttered, fanning harder. “There’s already more than enough screeching in this apartment.”
And now her neighbor was banging on the wall.
That was new.
Eve’s vocal cords must have gotten to him.
“Who’s knocking?” shouted Landon over the noise, streaking past Eve in jeans and a chef’s hat, skidding to a halt in front of the door.
“No one. It’s just our neighbor . . . saying hello. Hi, Mrs. Rudolph!”
Landon wasn’t listening. While Eve continued to fan the bleating device furiously, Landon unlocked the door and yanked it
open.
Madden Donahue stared back at Eve from the hallway.
She dropped the magazine, her knees dipping out of pure shock to find Madden filling up her doorway with his serious eyes
and wide shoulders, the impact of both upsetting her balance. Oh man, he looked pensive and restless, distracting her further.
Story of my life.
Since the afternoon they’d met during her freshman year of high school, Madden Donahue had taken up rambling acres of space
in Eve’s mind. She’d seen him first and she’d simply . . . never stopped seeing him. Not even in her dreams. Rules didn’t
apply there. In her dreams, she didn’t have to avoid Madden out of loyalty to her best friend, Skylar, who’d always carried
a torch for Madden. Didn’t have to make vague excuses or run for cover, the way she’d been doing since Madden had started
showing romantic interest in Eve, the year she turned eighteen.
In dreams, she didn’t have to think about the difference in their social status.
She could let her wealth of feelings for Madden overflow.
Perhaps those feelings had piled up enough to upset her balance, because her chair wobbled and she began to topple. It was
suddenly happening, and she really didn’t have time for a broken leg. Please, no. Not when her sister had just left town with no timeline to return, leaving Eve with her two children and her burlesque club sinking further and further into debt.
Please, not one more thing—
Madden caught Eve’s waist between two strong hands, steadying her.
“Easy, love.” Even with Eve standing on a chair, at six foot three, Madden barely had to lift his chin to make eye contact
with her. “Don’t scare me like that.”
Eve had two reactions to Madden’s touch. His sudden presence.
There was Fantasy Eve who allowed herself to continue toppling straight into his baseball-catcher arms and be spun around
the kitchen while she laughed, youthful and carefree. Once their amusement cooled, she would perch her inner thighs on his
hips and work herself close enough to make him groan, before thanking him for being her hero.
Asking him coyly what she could do to repay him.
Reality Eve ignored the tingles shooting upward from Madden’s palms and fingertips to her nipples. She ignored the surging
pound in her chest. The sexual awareness. The pure rush of pleasure over simply seeing him. Being graced with a reminder that
Madden Donahue existed in this world.
All she could do was bite her lip and avoid eye contact while he lifted her down off the chair, reached up, and pressed a
button to make the smoke detector quit its blaring. With the situation under control, Madden stared down at the two children
craning their necks to look up at him, giving them a curt nod, as if they were tiny little adults.
“You’re the man who had a fight with Eve,” accused Landon, adjusting his chef’s hat. “Huh?”
Yes. Yes, he was.
Two weeks prior, Eve had taken the stage at the Gilded Garden for the very first time.
A last resort. Maybe if she performed and fulfilled the prophecy of everyone she’d grown up with, she’d get enough locals talking to spur some business.
Alas, she never removed so much as a silk glove, because Madden had stormed the stage and carried her off over his big, baseball catcher shoulder.
While they argued backstage over her choice to become the night’s entertainment, he’d discovered the five-year-old twins passing the time with coloring books in her office.
The cat was out of the bag. Eve was raising her sister’s kids for the foreseeable.
However, Madden’s stoic expression didn’t budge at the question. “You must be thinking of somebody else. I’d never fight with
our Eve.”
“Yup, it was you,” Lark confirmed.
“You have to get out of bed a lot earlier in the morning to gaslight these kids,” Eve said, attempting a smirk, despite her
racing heart.
“I get to wear lipstick to school today,” Lark added.
Madden’s eyebrows went up. “Well now. What color?”
“Pink!”
“And here I thought you’d say blue.”
Lark trapped a giggle behind her hand.
“Kids, um . . .” Realizing she was still wearing her dove gray silk, lace-edged shorts, and a matching tank top she’d worn
to bed, Eve crossed her arms over her breasts. “Go finish getting dressed, please. Don’t forget socks and shoes.”
“Don’t forget the toast!” Landon shouted, running full speed to the bedroom, his sister hot on his heels. “And don’t burn
it again!”
Eve took a comically deep breath, attempting to distract herself from Madden’s presence.
An impossible feat—and she knew that by now, didn’t she?
If he was in the room, he absorbed 100 percent of her focus.
Just sucked all of it in like a big, muscular Irish sponge. “Let’s not talk about the fight.”
“I specifically came here to talk about it,” he countered, no hesitation. “Or what caused it, anyway.”
Eve squinted an eye. “I’d rather not.”
“I’ll make the toast.” He glanced sideways toward the door, a muscle flickering in his jaw. “Would you mind putting on a sweater
or a robe, so I can think straight, love?”
It took her approximately five seconds to complete a swallow, the blooming sensation between her thighs was so intense. And
so tied to this man, the only one who got this reaction out of her. God, it was so useless. “No need. You were just leaving.”
“You’re not running away from me this time, Eve.” Madden gave her a firm nod. “Now. It’s a proper conversation we’ll be having
this morning.”
Her nerves fluttered. “Why?”
“We’ve things to sort out, you and me. And . . .” A line appeared between his brows as he dropped his head forward. “I don’t
have a lot of time.”
“Why?” she asked hollowly, knowing she sounded like an echo.
“I’m leaving for New York this afternoon. I’ve been picked up by the Yankees.”