Chapter 3
Everly
Six hours after falling into bed after my night shift at the restaurant, I wake to the sound of my alarm clock blaring from my bedside table. I groan and force myself to get up, my legs still sore from being on my feet serving tables all night.
I’m exhausted, but six hours will have to do. I need to get Birdie up and fed so she isn’t late for school.
I pad down the hall to her room. The house is quiet, Birdie still sound asleep, and as I quietly push her bedroom door open, my heart sighs when I look at her perfect little sleeping face.
She looks even younger when she’s asleep, so tiny and innocent. My heart aches. I wish she didn’t have to go through any of this. I wish I didn’t have to uproot her from the life she knew, from her home and her friends and the routine that felt safe and familiar. I feel a rush of anger at my ex for making it impossible to stay with him. He made it impossible for us to be a family.
I am partly to blame for the way our marriage imploded. I was a fool for believing Grant loved me when he had been upfront with me from the very first day we met. He told me he wasn’t looking for anything serious, that he didn’t ”do” relationships. But to me, it always felt like more. It felt like the kind of whirlwind romance you read about. Grant called and texted me all day, every day. He took me on dates to nice restaurants, introduced me to his friends. We slept at each other’s apartments almost every night. We even cuddled after sex. It felt like we were in a serious relationship, but as I was falling hard for him, he was falling hard for half of Brookmont. Behind my back.
I was young, and maybe I was just being na?ve. I overlooked his character because I was enamoured with his charm. My friends were all in happy, committed relationships, and I was happy to have someone who paid attention to me, who showed interest. Grant had made me feel less alone.
He was handsome and smart and came from a wealthy family. Everyone in Brookmont knew the Billings, for better or for worse.
His parents seemed to like me well enough until they found out I was pregnant. As soon as that news broke, they told him to drop me. They were convinced I got pregnant on purpose to trap Grant. In their words, “A girl like that only wants one thing with a guy like you. Money.”
To Grant’s credit, he defended me at first, but his family’s accusations cut deep. I could get over being called a gold digger, but I couldn’t understand how they could so easily just toss their own grandchild aside. They quickly decided I wasn’t good for Grant, and over time he seemed to agree. At the very least, I wasn’t enough for him. He thought he could have his cake and eat it too—me waiting for him when he came home, and whoever else he wanted when he went out. It went on like that for years. Finally, I stopped trying and accepted the fact that he didn’t want me. When I suggested a divorce, he didn’t argue. I stayed at the house for a long time— too long probably—to make the transition easier on Birdie.
Just thinking about that ugly time in my life makes me feel sick. And now here I am, a single mom struggling to build a new life. All because my husband couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
Just then, Birdie’s wide eyes slowly flutter open, and the anger that had started to take hold of me melts away. It’s moments like these that my nerves are a little less frazzled and my soul feels a little more at peace. I sit on the edge of Birdie’s bed and gently smooth her blonde curls from her forehead.
I take in her long, dark eyelashes, her button nose, cherub lips, the freckles on both of her cheeks. I press my palm to the side of her face, running my thumb softly over her jaw.
My baby.
My whole world.
We have a new life ahead of us. For the first time in a long time, I am in control of what happens next.
“Good morning, Mommy.” Birdie rolls to her back, stretching her arms over her head.
“Good morning, my angel. How did you sleep?”
She sits up slowly, reaching for her stuffed cat. “I dreamt about a castle and a princess. It was perfect. Did you dream about a princess too?”
My heart swells. “No baby, but I dreamt about the sweetest seven-year-old blondie on the planet who loves cats, swimming, and Amelia Bedelia books. Do you have any idea who that could be?”
Birdie squeals. “Me! You dreamt about me!”
“Every night, baby.” I lean down and kiss the tip of her nose. “Now it’s time to get up. You have school and I have errands to run.”
“Maybe I could go with you instead? I bet there’s nothing important happening at school today.” She flashes me an exaggerated smile and bats her eyelashes, proving she could be an award-winning actress one day if she wanted. I enrolled her in summer school so she could meet friends before the school year began.
I tickle her under her chin. “No can do, pretty-girl. You are going to school. But if you’re good, I might take you for a treat tonight after dinner.”
Cutie-pop that she is, Birdie smiles her brightest smile, waving her hands in the air. “I’m gonna be so good, Mommy. I promise you.”
My beautiful little Birdie.
I kiss her nose for the second time then remind myself we need to get moving. I have to get Birdie dressed, fed, hair done, shoes on and out the door. I’ve wasted enough time this morning thinking about the man who should be here with us instead of where he is, waking up in another woman’s bed. Instead of dwelling on what I’ve lost, I choose to be grateful for what I have: my daughter. She’s the only thing that matters.
Once I’ve dropped Birdie off at school, I make a stop at the grocery store to get a few things for the week, including some ground beef for tonight’s tacos.
The afternoon passes quickly as it always does. I put away the groceries, do a load of laundry, unpack a few more boxes. I find a wedding photo of Grant and me tucked away in one of them and resist the urge to toss it in the trash. Whatever I might think of Grant, he’s Birdie’s father.
Later that night, after Birdie and I have cooked and eaten and tidied up, she reminds me about the treat I promised her this morning. We jump in the car and drive the three minutes to Birdie’s favorite ice cream shop. She picks bubble gum in a waffle cone, just like she always does.
“That was the best ice cream in the world!” Birdie practically sings as I wipe the pastel pink remnants from her face and her hands. “Can I look at all the other flavors so I can choose one for next time?”
It’s a school night and I should get her home, but instead of fighting her on it, I nod my head then watch her skip over to the counter and hop onto the bench so she’s able to see the different flavors. I relax back into my chair with an exhale, tired from a couple of night shifts at the restaurant this week and the early morning wakeups with Birdie.
I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been this tired, or my body ached this much. I was working as an assistant in a real estate company and going to college part-time studying communications when I met Grant. After I had Birdie, Grant asked me to quit my job. His family thought it was important he had a wife who stayed home, had dinner on the table, volunteered for whatever causes interested them at the moment. I knew I would miss my job, but I did what was asked of me. I didn’t want to give them another excuse to dislike me. Besides, I didn’t know how I could argue the point when I was living in a 6,000-square-foot home in a gated community, complete with a housekeeper and gardeners. Grant and I didn’t need the second income.
We had it all. But apparently having it all wasn’t enough for my husband. And Grant always got what Grant wanted.
The first time I came home and found him with another woman in our bed, I was devastated. The second time, I was angry. After the third time, I felt numb. Ten years of broken promises and regrets, but I’d never regret the gift of my daughter.
I watch Birdie over the rim of my coffee cup, noticing yet again how much she looks like Grant. The resemblance isn’t just physical. Birdie is confident. She’s smart. She’s funny.
A few minutes later, as Birdie continues her thorough investigation of every single flavor, I startle when I hear someone call my name.
I look up and see him.
Jake.
The guy from the beach.
The guy from the beach who is incredibly cute, sweet, and has a smile that can make you forget your own name. He frowns so perfectly too.
My God, he is handsome.
Jake is hot in a broody, rugged way. His hair is styled so it looks like he tried, but still messy enough that it doesn’t look like he tried too hard.
Every angle of his face is chiselled—a sharp jaw covered in scruff, angled cheekbones, the perfect curve of his nose. The one exception is his lips—they look soft, and I find myself wondering what they would feel like on mine.
His piercing intense eyes are flecked with green the color of emeralds, and he looks at me with that gaze that seems to cage me in, and he’d kiss me fiercely, like he could never get enough.
Every muscle in Jake’s body is perfected. He’s well over 6 feet tall and lean, with broad shoulders. He’s built like an athlete—even with his shirt on I can tell that his abs are cut with grooves and valleys, his arms corded and pecs just big enough that they stretch his T-shirt perfectly.
I doubt he looks that way by sitting at a desk wearing a suit all day. Or being the heir to his daddy’s fortune. Jake is built like he works hard. Like he isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. I only wonder if he has a dirty mouth too.
He looks like he would. He seems cocky, in a good way. I bet he has a lot more experience than me. I’ve only been with one guy since I was 23 years old and let’s just say the sex was underwhelming. I bet it wouldn’t be with Jake. It’s too bad I will never find out. A relationship is the last thing I need right now. And even if I was looking for someone, I get the feeling Jake is a lot younger than me. I doubt he’s looking to get tangled up with a single mom and her kid.
I smile at Jake, realizing I’ve been staring.
“We need to stop running into each other. It’s becoming a habit,” Jake says with a grin as he approaches my table. I feel a blush creep up my cheeks. It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to a guy like him, I’m out of practise. I grab Birdie’s sweater from the table and hold the fabric against my chest as if it’s a shield.
“A coincidence,” I correct him, then accidentally drop the sweater to the floor. Before I can bend down to grab it, Jake scoops it up and hands it to me. A wash of goosebumps marks my skin when his hand touches mine.
I breathe hard, taking another look at him. Jake is wearing a pair of dark navy basketball shorts, white crew cut socks and Nike runners with a long sleeve Queens College T-shirt. He has the sleeves pushed half-way up his forearms. He looks fit, and young. I would guess he’s still in his twenties.
Still, I like his look … very much. The basketball shorts leave little to the imagination. There is no way they can hide what he has underneath them. You can’t miss the obvious bulge.
Jake grins again and continues looking at me with his piercing brown-green eyes. Those damn eyes. Can he tell how much his stare is getting to me? My skin heats. It’s a lot to have someone who looks like Jake hold your gaze a little too long.
“Maybe,” he shrugs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his athletic shorts. My gaze drops down, following the motion, drawn to his forearm and the vein that runs the length of it. I tear my eyes away, meeting his.
“What are you doing here? I mean… sorry, that came out wrong. Let’s start again.” I laugh nervously. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Coffee,” he says, nodding at the big espresso machine behind the counter. “I was just grabbing one to go.”
“Right. That makes sense.” I press my fingers into my temple and shake my head, shooting him a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”
“Don’t be sorry. You seem to have a lot on your hands. It can’t be easy.” He scrubs the back of his neck. “I know you said your focus is on your daughter, and I absolutely get it. But maybe a night out would be fun. The offer still stands.”
“Jake,” I sigh. “I don’t have time for fun.”
But when Jake smirks and his eyes darken, I feel my resolve weaken.
Green eyes burn into mine.
I give myself a silent lecture. Birdie is your focus.
My eyes drop to his mouth. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him. What is wrong with me?
Get your things, Everly.
Learn from your mistakes.
Get Birdie and go.
But I stay where I am, not even the slightest movement. Just then I feel a tug at my sleeve and look beside me to find my daughter’s big eyes staring back at me.
“Is that your friend from the beach, Mommy?”
Birdie. She’s looking up at Jake, curiosity written all over her face.
Shit.This is bad.