Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Maeve had never been more relieved to be called in for an emergency. She stood up from the table. “Sorry, Brodie, I’m afraid we’ll have to do this again another time. Zoey, I’ll call Carole, okay?”
“Oh, I hate Carole,” Zoey moaned.
“You do not hate Carole.”
“She makes me wash my face with a flannel.”
Brodie sniggered.
Maeve threw him a glare. It was bad enough him dazzling Zoey with his Taylor Swift tickets—she couldn’t imagine the reaction when her daughter found out about Silver Sky—but there he was, all crease-eyed and chilled sharing a joke with Zoey, arm looped casually over the back of his chair.
She had tried to convince herself that she could handle this, that she could be mature enough to let him into their lives, but she wanted him gone.
Out the house. Out of her space. He was too handsome, too funny, too laid-back.
He was on a different stratum of society to her, one with money and power and chiseled good looks.
What did he want? What was he planning to do?
She wanted him to disappear back to his waterfront Malibu mansion that she’d seen pictures of in Architectural Digest and that had original Keith Haring prints on the walls and a snazzy, temperature-controlled wine room.
“I can babysit,” he said, eyes smiling as if nothing could be easier or more obvious.
“No.” She replied too quickly.
“Yes!” said Zoey at the same time. Then scrunched up her nose at her mom and said, “Why not?” She turned to Brodie. “We could watch Harry Potter.”
“Only if it’s one of the first four,” he said without missing a beat. “I haven’t finished reading book five yet.”
Zoey giggled.
Maeve realized she was doomed.
Her daughter scrabbled off her chair to go and set up the TV. On her way she stopped and said, “He can do it—babysit—can’t he, Mom? Please.” She held her hands together pleadingly.
Brodie watched, smiling dazzlingly from his chair. Innocently casual, the ball now in Maeve’s court.
She wanted to say no again. Every fiber of her being screamed no.
But she had to be rational. He was a Carter.
They were good people. He was Zoey’s father—whether she liked it or not.
He was, underneath it all—maybe—the same guy from school who everyone loved, who charmed the teachers and the lunch ladies and was the star quarterback but also the lead in the school play, and who sang for the old people at the charity Thanksgiving meal.
He was Brodie Carter, not the Big Bad Wolf.
But still. She wanted him to go.
She thought of all the times she had imagined something like this happening and how in every scenario she’d pictured herself cool as a cucumber, confident in her own role as Zoey’s mother and humbly open to this man coming into her child’s life.
What she hadn’t counted on, however, were her own involuntary emotions.
The insecurity when he came armed with extravagant perfectly-pitched gifts, the terror when she realized how much money—and therefore power—he had at his fingertips.
But most of all, the envy, the bone-deep jealousy inside her when he made Zoey laugh so effortlessly.
She could look into the future and see the relationship that they’d build, shooting off to Taylor Swift concerts in his open-top car while posting it all on YouTube. He was Fun Dad.
She didn’t want to be jealous.
She needed some space to think. The world she had so tightly controlled was unraveling before her eyes. “Let me go and get changed and think about it.”
Once in her bedroom, she called Bella. “Would you trust Brodie Carter to babysit your kid?”
“Yes, of course,” Bella replied, no hesitation. Then she paused. “Why? Is Brodie looking after Zoey?”
“Kind of,” Maeve replied, screwing up her face, not ready for questions. “Can you not mention this conversation to Logan, please?”
“Okay—are you all right, Maeve?”
“Fine,” she sighed. “I’m fine. Gotta go.”
Maeve went back downstairs, changed and ready for work. “Okay, you can babysit.”
Zoey whooped.
“But there are conditions.”
Brodie’s lips twitched. “Absolutely,” he said, as if he wouldn’t expect anything less, though she wondered if anyone had said no to him in his life.
Behind her, she caught Zoey doing a little victory dance and shooed her away into the living room before going over to pull out the chair opposite Brodie.
“You don’t leave the house,” she said. “Neither of you, either separately or together.”
Brodie shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
She cocked her head. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
Maeve didn’t reply because she knew that he knew what, judging by the smirk on his face.
“Sorry,” he said, holding up his hands. “I’m not very good at being told off. Ask my brothers.”
“I’m not telling you off, Brodie. I’m not your teacher.” She tipped her head back.
“No, of course not.” He smirked again, seemingly unable to help himself.
She pushed her chair back. “I’m going to call Carole.”
“No,” he held his hands up again. “Please don’t. Sorry.” He schooled his features. “I’ll be serious.” He shook his head like he was trying to rid himself of his childishness. “Okay,” he said, gravely. “I’m ready.” He rolled his shoulders back. “Can I take her to the movies?”
“Brodie, I just said, don’t leave the house.”
“Did you?”
She put her head in her hands. Her phone bleeped and her pager went off again.
“I really have to go. Please, Brodie, don’t go anywhere, don’t anything.
Just—” She sighed. “It’s a school night.
Zoey has to be in bed at eight. By your standards, it’s boring.
You watch TV, she goes to bed, you sit here on the couch for the rest of the evening.
You go up if she gets scared. It’s not glamorous or exciting—it’s just—” she felt weirdly guilty saying the word “—parenting.”
His mouth opened slightly as if he was going to protest but then he seemed to reconsider and gave a small lift of his chin to show he’d understood. “I hear you,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to look behind the charm and the beauty and the little turn up of his mouth that clearly got him everything he ever wanted. “Do you?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She sighed.
He bit down on a grin. “Sorry.”
Maeve ignored him. She had no choice but to trust him. He was the dad. And as much as she wanted it to be, this wasn’t only her chessboard now. “Just look after her.”
Before he could reply, Zoey appeared in the doorway. “Are we going to the movies?” she asked with an excited grin in Brodie’s direction, like she’d listened in on some of what had been said but had felt too guilty to eavesdrop on all of it.
Brodie shook his head. “Nah, sorry, kid, we have to stay in.”
“Why?” Zoey whined. “Just ’cause Mom says…” Her eyes immediately zeroed in on Maeve like she was the worst person in the world.
Maeve flinched.
But then Brodie said, “No, that’s not it.
It’s school tomorrow. No one goes out on a school night.
Not even me.” He made a face like the idea was pure madness.
“On a school night,” he said, strolling in the direction of the living room, “you want to get cozy and sit on the couch and watch Harry Potter—but actually not the third movie, either, because that is terrifying.”
Zoey followed him, Maeve could sense her daughter’s wariness, like she knew she was being played, but as long as Brodie was involved, she would play along herself. “Can we have popcorn?”
Brodie glanced back at Maeve who would normally say no because they’d already had ice cream but didn’t want to give any more fodder to being Mean Mom, so she said, “Yes, it’s in the cupboard above the toaster.”
Brodie tipped his head. “Harry Potter and popcorn. That’s like my perfect evening.”
There was Zoey’s sweet tinkling little giggle.
“Okay, I have to go,” Maeve said, kissing Zoey and throwing Brodie another warning glare. “Have fun.” Then she left before she could change her mind. But once outside, she glanced back at the cozy, low-lit living room, the film paused and ready on the TV, and knew this was the start. Good or bad.
She looked up at the sky, offering a silent plea: please don’t let him break her heart.
Then she caught sight of Brodie, watching her watching them, his eyes creasing, and a grin spreading wide when she noticed.
He raised a hand in a casual wave. Maeve’s stomach tightened at the ease of it all for him, all chocolate-box handsome, sprawled on the couch, prodding Zoey in the ribs to wave, too.
Brodie Carter was in her living room. She waved back, then turned quickly away, refusing to even contemplate what his presence might do to her own heart.