Chapter 8
8
JADE
Back half an hour earlier than expected, and around the same time Poppy has her afternoon nap, I press the front door closed carefully and sneak into the quiet villa, guessing my mom is resting while Poppy does.
I love training in Cyprus; early starts mean early finishes.
Today went better than expected. I had nothing to worry about.
The guys loved my choreography. We sat around for hours, running through it several times, examining parts of it we want to change to minimize risk, letting everyone have their chance to express their thoughts and concerns. Level heads and professionalism shone through each of us, highlighting just how much of a tight-knit unit we are already. The loyalty and attentiveness of my team knows no limits and I am buzzing about getting to fly in formation tomorrow.
I pull my aviator sunglasses off my face, fold the arms, then push one of them into the neckline of my tee shirt.
Burning up, I unzip my flight suit, rolling the green fabric down to my waist, then tie the arms of it around my hips .
“God, that feels good.” I shake out the tension in my tight shoulders and waft the neckline of my crisp white shirt, causing my sunglasses to clink against the soft cotton fabric.
I toe off my black boots and make for the stairs, but just as the sole of my foot hits the first one, I hear a masculine voice travel across the hallway, prompting me to stop and listen.
Zeroing in on the noise, trying to figure out where the voice is coming from, I lean over the banister toward the living space when Poppy giggles with glee.
My lips involuntarily smile at her laughter. That giggle gets me every time.
“Oh, you like that, do you?” A Scottish accent, one I know all too well now, hits my eardrums.
What the hell is he doing here?
Louder now, he bellows in his broad Scottish-accented words, “It’s a braw, moonlicht nicht, the nicht.” And she giggles again.
Trying not to be heard, I slowly move off the step and tiptoe closer to them.
“You are so easily pleased, Poppy. Maybe I should become an actor or a singer.” Out of tune, Owen sings a few lines from a song I’ve never heard before. “Maybe not. I’m not very good. Don’t tell anyone how bad that was,” he whispers. “Our little secret, right, Pop-a-doodle?”
Stealthily curving my head around the corner to get a better look, I have to cover my mouth to stifle a giggle. Owen is standing with his hands on his hips, wearing a stainless-steel vegetable strainer as a hat with the handles of two wooden spoons jammed through the holes as if he’s got alien antenna, and he’s wearing Poppy’s dress-up pink voile tutu over the top of his blue shorts and nothing else.
Even in a tutu, this man is delicious .
Poppy is looking up at Owen from the sofa as if he’s the most magical guy in existence.
Melting my heart, he keeps chatting away to Poppy, “Another secret us two need to keep”—he motions to the gap between them—“is the one where we don’t tell Mommy you got poo all over Owen’s tee shirt when we changed your diaper earlier. Or that it went up my fingernail, or that it took me five attempts to put your diaper on. Just like your nana told me, you are a wiggly worm, huh? Thank goodness for YouTube.” He points at Poppy again. “Oh, and you can’t tell your mommy that either. Don’t tell her I cheated. Tell her I was amazing.” He narrows his eyes and asks, “Do we have a deal, little Pop-a-doodle?”
Poppy claps her hands and blows a raspberry, sealing their agreement.
“Yes.” Owen punches the air. “I knew I could count on you. Right, little one, I think it’s time for your nap.” His broad frame steps around the table and scoops Poppy into his arms.
Oh my God, who is this guy who calls himself selfish and believes he is unworthy of love? He’s far from it and obviously has a kind heart in that chest, because he’s so beautiful, caring, and sweet with my daughter.
Realizing he’s coming this way, I shift back around the corner, run on my tiptoes as far as I can, not wanting to be seen, then swivel around and walk back in the same direction, shouting, “Hey, I’m home.” I sound delirious, my voice too high as I try to disguise my peeping Tom act.
“Yay, Mommy’s home.” Owen cheers and appears in the hall, greeting me with the biggest smile. My heart instantly melts with how utterly adorable they look together.
With one arm around his broad neck, Poppy is snuggled into Owen’s bare chest as she pushes the thumb of her other hand into her little pouty mouth and mumbles, “Mamma , ” quietly.
“Hey, baby girl.”
My throat instantly tightens with a flash of what life would be like if Poppy had a proper father. One who cared for her and didn’t treat her like an object he felt obliged to take every now and again. Those thoughts slice my heart wide open, my emotions bleeding out of me.
How could this man, who has known Poppy for less than a day, be more connected to her than her own father? Tears prick behind my eyes and I can’t stop them escaping.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I flick the tears away quickly as I’m pulled into the firm hold of Owen’s muscular arm. He coddles me, then kisses me on top of my head, smooshing me into a solid chest. Owen holds me until my tears subside and right on cue, Poppy pulls me back to reality with a firm tug on my nose.
I catch our reflection in the mirror, and the three of us huddled together like this makes us look like an instant family.
Like we belong.
Lightening the mood, Owen nods, then winks sexily. “I knew you’d look hot in your flight suit, Hotshot.” His voice is soft yet deep, and I know he’s trying to distract me from feeling emotional.
I nervously chuckle, stepping out of his embrace, instantly feeling stupid. Wiping my eyes with the palms of my hands, I apologize profusely, embarrassed, and unable to look at him.
“Intense day?” Owen asks, his voice deep and gravelly. His face floods with concern.
“Yeah, something like that. I’m sorry,” I apologize again, holding out my arms. “Come here, baby.” Poppy willingly moves into them as she sleepily snuggles in .
I look around to avoid questions he might have about my sudden waterfall of tears. “Where’s my mom?”
“Resting.” He looks up toward the stairs. He drops his voice to barely a whisper. “Don’t tell her I told you.” He nips at his lips worriedly. “But she’s been feeling dizzy most of the day.”
Blood zooms around my brain. “Why didn’t you call me?” I half shout.
“Shhh.” He places his forefinger over his lips. “She asked me not to,” he hisses.
My voice panicked, I ask, “Is she okay now?”
“She’s been sleeping most of the afternoon. I checked on her half an hour ago and took her a fresh bottle of water. I suggested she rest until you come home.” He pauses. “She thinks it’s the heat.”
“I wish you’d called me.” Although I know why he didn’t. My mother can be very stubborn. I guess it takes one to know one.
“I don’t have your number.” He throws his hands in the air as if defeated.
“You could have called Gregor,” I point out.
He rolls his eyes. “She asked me not to, plus everything is cool. Poppy and I have had an awesome day together. Haven’t we, Pop-a-doodle?”
I love his nickname for her.
Poppy smiles between her thumb-sucking, batting her long eyelashes at him.
Yup, I’m a sucker for him too, Pop-a-doodle.
“See, she already loves me. I took care of her like a pro.” He stands confidently with his hands on his hips, pushing his muscular chest out, and all I want to do is reach out and run my hands down the rivets of his washboard stomach. Mischievously I question, “So, you managed the diaper changes with no problems?”
“None whatsoever. Diaper changer of the year.” He points at his chest, then examines his fingernail.
I giggle, assuming that’s the one that had poop under it.
As proud as punch, he replies, “We are all fully sanitized within an inch of our lives. Like I said, no poop on any hands or clothes.” He waves his hand down his body, motioning to himself. “Professional.”
I look up at his homemade hat. “You look like one.”
Pushing his hands out to the side, he throws me a dazzling smile. “I do, don’t I? I’m the best alien ballet dancer on planet Zog.”
“Really?” I tuck my lips into my mouth.
“Well, Poppy seems to think so, don’t you?” He looks at Poppy for an answer, but she’s already half asleep, making squelchy noises as she sucks her thumb. “She’s so bloody cute.” I’m not sure he means to say his next sentence out loud. “If she was mine, I wouldn’t want to miss a thing.” He reaches out to touch a lock of her hair. “Michael’s a fool.”
I clear my throat, not wanting to give the meaning of my erratic heartbeat thumping in my chest another thought. “I’m going to check on Mom.” I tilt my head toward the stairs.
“Keep in touch with Gregor. Let me know how she is, yeah?”
“Have Gregor give you my number.” I suddenly feel nervous and forward. Giving a man my number is not something I do, but at least I have an excuse now.
Nodding cheekily, his megawatt smile lights up the already luminous sun-filled hallway.
“Will I see you later?” Hopeful eyes search mine as he removes his makeshift tin hat.
“Blake is coming over for dinner tonight. ”
“Blake?” He eyes me suspiciously.
“Yeah, our public relations manager.” Blake and I have been firm friends since I joined the display team.
“Right.” Jaw clenched, Owen nods his head slowly. “So, you’re seeing Blake tonight?”
“Yeah,” I confirm.
“Fine,” he grits out, hastily removing Poppy’s tutu, almost ripping it. “Well, have fun with Blake .” His sarcastic tone sounds riled.
Confused, I reply, “Thanks.”
Owen stares me down. “You know, if you were already seeing somebody else, you should have said.” There is an underlying biting tone in his voice. “If I was simply the warmup act to prepare for Blake, then you could have at least told me the truth.”
Taken aback by his outburst, words of reassurance get stuck in my throat. I’m speechless.
He runs his hands through his wild hair haphazardly. “Stupidly, I thought something special happened between us, but clearly you don’t like me as much as I like you.” The cadence of his voice is now filled with notes of impatience. “Last night, with you, was different. It was great, incredible. Kissing you felt right. It’s never felt right with anyone else. With you, it was fuc—” Aware of Poppy in my arms, he seems to reconsider his choice of words, then melts my heart when he says, “Utterly perfect.”
He stops himself from saying any more. “Bollocks, I’ve said too much. Anyway, hope your mom’s feeling better soon. See you around.”
Still reeling from his words, I watch Owen storm out the front door.
What the hell just happened?