Chapter 26
Cal
While the girls are out shopping, I go over the designs Vincent approved, then spend the morning putting the finishing touches on the six I just completed. The hours have been long, but I’ve stayed on top of my timeline, making sure no detail is missed.
As soon as I lock the door to the shop, my phone rings.
“Hey, babe,” I say, walking across the lawn to the house. “Are you girls on your way home?”
“She took Hannah!” Elle’s voice is raw with panic.
My heart drops. The speed with which my mind jumps to the worst-case scenario is frightening.
“Who took Hannah?” I ask, doing my best to remain calm. “Elle, who took her?”
“Meghan,” she replies, her words rushed.
Relief washes over me, and I release the breath I was holding. "Tell me exactly what happened."
I listen intently as she recounts the whole story.
“Tina and Beth found most of the pearls,” she adds, sounding hopeful. “If we get her the pearls, will she give us Hannah back?”
I smile, feeling a surge of tenderness for this woman. “Sweetie, this isn’t a kidnapping,” I say, trying to center both of us. “Hannah isn’t being held for ransom. She’ll be fine.”
“I'm sorry," she says, her voice cracking. "That was stupid. Of course she's fine. She's with her mom.”
“Elle,” I say calmly, “I’m sorry you had to endure one of Meghan’s temper tantrums.”
Her silence hangs in the air for a moment before she speaks again. “Now that she knows about us... her tantrums might get worse.”
"Let me call her," I say, an idea forming in my head. "I'll ask her to keep Hannah for the night. That guarantees she'll bring her back home before dinner."
"Are you sure?" she asks, her voice trembling. The emotion is rising fast, and it hurts to hear her like this.
"I'm positive," I assure her.
***
I'm covered in sawdust, so as soon as Elle and I hang up, I make a beeline for the bathroom to shower before calling Meghan. I pull my shirt over my head, drop it on the floor, and step out of my boots. Just as I unbutton my jeans, the doorbell starts ringing—insistently.
Whoever's out there isn't happy.
"Meghan," I grunt.
I inhale sharply before opening the door, bracing myself for a fight.
“Daddy!” Hannah exclaims the moment she sees me.
I glance at Meghan. She's so angry her nostrils are flared, and she's huffing quietly, trying—and failing—to rein in her temper.
“Hi, princess,” I say, bending to kiss the top of Hannah's head. “Why don’t you go inside and finish picking up your room like we talked about this morning?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“I’m going to talk to your mom for a bit.”
“Bye, Mommy,” Hannah says, wrapping her arms around Meghan’s hips. “I love you!”
“I love you too, Hannah Banana,” Meghan says, never breaking eye contact with me.
Meghan steps inside the foyer, shutting the door behind her a little harder than necessary.
I stand there, barefoot, shirtless, my jeans still unbuttoned.
Sawdust clings to the denim around my knees and the creases of my waistband, and there’s still a faint trace of cedar and sun-warmed wood on my skin.
I run a hand through my hair, shaking out the last bits of dust.
Her gaze travels down my body—slow, deliberate.
“Well,” she murmurs, voice like a purr, “looks like you’ve been busy. I always did love the way you looked after a day in the shop.”
I fold my arms across my chest, not saying a word.
She steps closer, her heels clicking softly on the wood floor. “It’s almost unfair, you know. Looking like that.” Her fingers brush the waistband of my jeans, right where a line of sawdust still lingers. “You smell like old times.”
I don’t move. Not yet.
“You know,” she continues, her voice low, “you used to come home just like this. Covered in sawdust. Hands rough, but never too tired to…” She lets the sentence hang as her hand lifts to trace along my chest, just above my heart. “You were always mine back then.”
Her hand slides downward, but I catch her wrist before it can land.
“Don’t,” I say flatly. “The only thing between us now is Hannah.”
She blinks, startled by the steel in my voice.
I drop her hand gently and take a step back, keeping my tone even. “I let you in today for Hannah’s sake. That’s it.”
Her mouth opens like she’s going to argue, but she stops herself. For a moment, she just looks at me—really looks—and maybe she finally understands that whatever door she thought might still be open has long since closed.
She brushes past me like she owns the place, her perfume trailing behind her, sweet and familiar. She sinks onto the couch like a queen reclaiming her throne, leans back, and crosses one long leg over the other. It’s a practiced move. One she’s used a hundred times before to get what she wanted.
It used to work. God, did it work.
“I forgot how good this couch feels,” she says, running her fingers along the armrest. “Do you remember what happened on this couch the day it was delivered? Mmm. The memories we made right here.”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy watching the way she drapes herself there, like nothing's changed.
“I do," she murmurs, tilting her head. "That look in your eyes. You used to look at me like you couldn’t get enough.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice low. “I also used to think fast food was fine dining. We all grow out of things.”
Her smile twitches, just slightly. “So this is how it’s going to be now? You pretending like you're no longer attracted to me? Like we don't have fire between us?”
I cross my arms and lean against the wall, sawdust still clinging to my skin. “We had something. Had being the operative word. But it burned out fast. And all that smoke? It just hid what I didn’t want to see.”
“Oh?” she says, still calm, still cool. “And what was that?”
“How shallow it was. How shallow I was. You were beautiful, Meghan—still are. But that was all I saw. All I let myself care about. And that was my mistake.”
She narrows her eyes. “So now you’re above me?”
“No,” I say simply. “Now I see you clearly.”
For a beat, the only sound in the room is the hum of the fridge. Meghan uncrosses her legs, shifts forward.
“You really think she’s better for you?” she asks. “Elle?” Her voice drips with disdain when she says her name. “She doesn’t even know the version of you I knew. The real you.”
“You’re right,” I say. “She doesn’t. Because that version of me? The one who thought lust was love? The one who mistook being wanted for being respected? He’s gone.”
“Be very careful, Jackson,” she says, her tone like ice cracking under pressure. “That little girl in there is my daughter. Don’t forget—the only reason you have her is because I gave you custody. But I can take her back in the blink of an eye.”
“Are you threatening me?” I ask, my voice calm, almost casual.
“I’m simply pointing out the reality of your situation,” she says, standing now, slow and deliberate. “If you insist on seeing that woman, I will take Hannah from you.”
I pause for half a second, then turn toward the stairs. “Hannah! Come here, sweetheart!”
Meghan’s expression falters. “What are you doing?” she asks, her voice edged with unease.
Hannah’s footsteps thunder down the stairs. “What, Daddy?” she says, breathless, her eyes bright and curious.
“Go to your room and pack a bag,” I say, smiling gently. “You’re going to stay with Mommy for a few days.”
“Yay!” she squeals, jumping up and down, her arms flailing with pure excitement. “Can I take Teddy?”
“Of course,” I say. “Hurry, now.”
Hannah bolts back up the stairs.
Meghan stares at me, stunned. “Jackson!”
I turn to her, folding my arms. “You want to play games with custody? Fine. Let’s see how long you last being a full-time parent. But don’t ever use our daughter as a weapon again.”
I don’t know if she’s stunned into silence or giving me the silent treatment, but without another word, she walks to the door and opens it.
Then she turns, eyes full of disdain. “You owe me a pearl necklace. I’ll wait for Hannah in the car.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
***
Half an hour later, just as I’m done getting dressed, the doorbell rings again. This time, I know it’s Elle.
She’s calm, but I can tell she’s been crying.
I pull her into my arms, and she sinks into me, her warmth wrapping around me with peace and longing all at once. Her scent is familiar, but instead of stirring anxiety or uncertainty, it fills me with comfort and a desire unlike anything I’ve ever known.
This is love—not the superficial, short-lived, and misguided attraction I felt for Meghan.
“Have you talked to Meghan?” she asks, without letting go.
“She came by,” I say, pulling back to look into her eyes.
“Where’s Hannah?” she asks, glancing around the room.
“She’s going to spend a few days with Meghan,” I say. “It’ll be good for her, especially so close to Christmas. I just hope Meghan makes the most of it, and gives Hannah what she wants most: her time.”
"That’s good," Elle whispers. She takes a deep breath and rests her head on my chest, letting me hold her close.
Time stands still. And when she looks up at me, I claim her mouth with mine.
She kisses me back with the same intensity and passion I feel inside. Our lips move together until we’re both breathless.
Without breaking the kiss, we move to the couch, where we continue sharing a kiss that proves there's true love growing between us.
There’s no uncertainty, no doubt, no hesitation—just love and need.
I end the kiss, and she grunts in protest. I smile, pressing my forehead to hers.
“I love you, Elle.”
“I love you, too.”
I smile and make a mental note to replace this couch as soon as possible.
“Did you take Beth home?” I ask, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.
“Yes,” she responds. “She still has to wrap some gifts.”
“And Tina?” I ask.
“Believe it or not,” she begins, “Tina has a date tonight. With Vincent Fletcher.”
“You’re kidding,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“He called her when we were driving home.”
“He’s not wasting any time,” I say, letting out a breath.