27. World’s Least Evil Co-Parent
Chapter Twenty-Seven
World’s Least Evil Co-Parent
Neve
We stand there until the water loses heat, until the glass fogs and clears and fogs again. Eventually, Grant noses my cheek, peppering soft, lazy kisses. “Come on, angel. Let’s get you dry.”
I let him towel me off, and he wraps me in one of his big shirts. Grant tugs on sweatpants and another shirt. I run my hands up under his hem, mapping the shape of him, memorizing the plush and the muscle, the way his face flushes when I touch him.
He tries to glare, but he’s all soft edges and gentle hands. It makes my chest ache.
Eventually, we make it back to the kitchen. He’s still trailing kisses down my neck, shameless, big hands bracketing my hips as I whisk hollandaise like the fate of the universe depends on emulsification. The fate of the universe might not—but the fate of breakfast does.
“Do you always manhandle your sous chefs?” I tease, scraping the sauce into a little bowl.
He presses a lingering kiss to my pulse. “Only the ones who look this good in my shirt.”
I flush at how much he likes it when I wear his clothes, making a mental note to raid his closet later. I’d do it tonight, except I know today is changeover day, so I’m going to be relegated to not seeing him for two weeks because Sera will be here.
I don’t resent it, and I know it’s the way he has to do things until he can make sure our relationship is disclosed as per his custody agreement with his ex, but it’s going to suck not seeing him—especially now, after spending even just one night in his arms.
I’d like to do that for the rest of my life.
He reaches for the loaf of bread, slices it, then passes me a piece. I tear it in half, pop it in my mouth, and immediately pass the other half back to him. We eat like we’re recovering after a long siege, pausing only to kiss or to let him swipe a bit of sauce off my jaw.
I could get used to this. I want to get used to this.
But then there’s a knock at the door. It’s not loud, but it might as well be a pipe bomb in the center of the kitchen.
Grant freezes. Like, actual full-body, Jurassic Park T. rex freeze. I watch the color drain from his face—it’s fear’s close cousin. Braced, storm at the horizon, every nerve firing and not in a good way.
His hand finds my wrist.
“Fuck,” he mutters, barely audible. His voice is all apology, but his expression is thunderclouds. “I think it’s her. She does this sometimes. When… when she thinks something’s up. She tries to ambush me.”
My stomach drops. “Your ex?”
His jaw works. “Marie.”
“It’s changeover day.” I press my hand to his chest. “Just breathe, baby. It’s all right.”
“She was supposed to meet me at the drop point later, but—” He chokes off, clapping his hand over mine on his chest. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. She’s bringing Sera here on purpose. God, I hate to ask, but I need you to hide. Please.”
I lean up and kiss him—the kind of kiss that says you’re not alone, not even when you think you are.
The knock comes again, sharper now. “Grant?” Her voice is honeyed and bright, exactly the way you’d talk if you wanted to sound like the World’s Least Evil Co-Parent. “Grant, you home?”
He squeezes his eyes shut. I kiss him again, softer.
“Tell me this isn’t forever,” I whisper. “Tell me we won’t always have to hide. Please?”
He opens his eyes. “I promise, angel,” he says immediately. “I don’t want to hide you. Just now. I swear to you, this isn’t forever. I want you too much to lose you to her bullshit.”
“Okay,” I breathe. “It’s okay, Grant. I get it.” I steal one last kiss. “I’ll hide.”
He groans, forehead pressed to mine. I squeeze my fingers over his chest, then slide away, padding back to the bedroom.
I pause at the door, watch him for a second, the way his shoulders bow under the weight of everything he’s trying to do, everything he’s trying to protect.
He doesn’t look up, but I see his fists clench, jaw gone granite.
I wish I could tell him I’m proud of him.
Instead, I slip silently into his bedroom, trying not to burst into tears at how much I hate this. I press my back to the door, heart stuttering, like if I breathe too loud it’ll detonate the minefield on the other side.
Marie’s voice flares immediately as soon as the door opens, unnecessarily bright. They exchange their pleasantries, and I swallow down the urge to be sick.
“You remembered her sparkly water?” Marie chirps.
Grant’s answer is tight. “It’s in the fridge.” There’s a pause, followed by the sound of rustling, like maybe a backpack or a coat. “I stocked up. We’ve got plain lemon, orange, and the…” He hesitates, but it’s theatrical. “Dang, bug, I can’t remember. What’s your favorite?”
There’s an eruption of giggles. “Lime! You always forget the green one!” The glee in her little voice is so pure. I want to wrap it in plastic and keep it safe from all the sharp things in the world that could hurt her. I want to be there, right now, on the other side of the door.
I want this.
Not just the man, not just the filthy, transcendent sex or the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not watching—but that.
The kitchen, the sticky juice boxes, the kid who laughs like she’s never been hurt, and the hope that, maybe, she never will be.
I want his daughter to like me. I want her to know me, and I want to know her.
I want to be someone who can add something good to their lives without ever taking away the things that matter most to them.
I especially want to help him field this bullshit from his ex-wife.
The ache of it is so real, I find myself pressing a hand to my chest.
“Did you have someone over last night?” Marie’s voice is low and conspiratorial, but loud enough for me to hear. She says it like it’s offhand, but it’s sharpened on the whetstone of custody agreements and years of power plays.
I can practically hear Grant’s jaw flex from here. “No. Why would you think that?” I can tell he hates lying, too, but telling the truth here would be worse.
Marie hums. I hate the sound already. “Just… You seem different. Some people sleep in on weekends, others… look refreshed. You look refreshed, Grant.” The smile in her voice is so fake it feels like cold plastic pressed against my skin.
Sera’s giggles fill the gap. She’s singing to herself now, something about dinosaurs and toast. I melt. I want to see the way her whole face lights up when she’s happy. I want to make her happy, if I can.
I want all of it.
The kitchen goes quiet, and I can tell Marie is calculating.
I want to storm out there and tell her to fuck all the way off, but I know it won’t help anything, so I wait out the nuclear quiet, pressed to the inside of Grant’s bedroom door like a cliché, except I’m not eavesdropping on a lover’s wife—I’m hiding from the mother of his child, feeling like the bad guy.
It’s not exactly that I think Marie is the villain here.
I haven’t met her, and I have zero plans to try and play the “cool new mom” card.
Sera doesn’t need another mom; she has one.
I’m sure Marie is a good one, or Grant wouldn’t tolerate shared custody, no matter what happened between them.
If she was a disaster, he’d be at war, not playing at post-divorce amiability with an apologetic half-smile.
He’s not built to fake anything unless it’s for Sera’s sake.
I count my breaths until I hear the front door click closed, and Marie is gone.
It’s nothing dramatic, then there’s a soft oof from Grant.
He sounds different, even without saying actual words.
Not nervous, not hunted, not on guard. It’s gentler, softer, like I’m hearing a whole other register he keeps hidden from the adult world.
“God, bug, I missed you so much.” The words come out on a sigh. I picture Sera launching herself at him, and him powerless to do anything but catch her. My chest does a weird, vertiginous flip, heart turning to pure mush and running down the inside of my ribs like melted ice cream.
“I missed you too, Papa.” Sera’s voice is bright and uncomplicated.
He hums again, softer this time, and my entire body flares with affection. “Okay, go unpack your suitcase, all right?”
Little feet pelt across the floor, a shriek of giggles trailing behind. I hear the distant thump of a bedroom door and the muffled soundtrack of Sera’s world firing up at full blast.
I lean back, exhaling. I don’t realize I’m crying until I taste the tears on my lips.
I scrub my cheeks with the back of my hand, then swipe the heel of my palm under my nose. It’s not even a sad cry. It’s just… everything. Wanting things, things I’ve wanted for so long because I’m a romantic, and getting so close to getting them is getting me all up in my feelings.
I want to see Sera. I mean, I really want to see her. I want to tell her I like green lime seltzer, too, and that I can do a really good dinosaur impression, and I want to show her that it’s okay to be soft, to be loud, to be wild, even as you grow up—that you should stay you, no matter what.
I lean against the wall beside the door, waiting for the all-clear, even though I don’t know what that’ll be. I count my breaths in and out for at least five minutes, and then there’s the soft click of the door handle. Except it’s not Grant on the other side—it’s Sera.
My lips part, but no words come out. She looks so much like Grant, it’s almost unnerving. The hair, the eyes, even the stubborn set to her jaw. It’s actually kind of adorable.
“Oh. Hi.” Sera tilts her head, then points past me to the bookshelf. “My papa keeps his book in here.” She edges around me and into the room, unconcerned by my body ostensibly blocking her path. “So we can do our breakfast meeting.”
My brain stutters, then tries to reboot.
Before I can recover, Grant’s shadow fills the hallway. His face is a study in whiplash—shock, panic, then this careful, desperate calculation, like trying to carry a wedding cake across a tightrope.
“Hey, bug,” he says, voice pitched up just a notch, but gentle. “This is Neve.”
He looks at me, then looks at Sera, then back at me again.
I open my mouth. I’m not sure what I want to say, so I just blurt, “Breakfast meeting?”
Grant’s lips twitch, and his cheeks go a little pink. “Uh… We read our books while we eat breakfast sometimes. We call it a breakfast meeting.”
My heart implodes.
I can feel Sera watching me, like she’s met a hundred strange adults and is prepared to categorize me in under three seconds. I don’t want to make it weird for Grant, so I paste on my most harmless smile.
“Hi, Sera,” I say, voice soft. “I’m your dad’s… friend. Neve.”
Grant lets out the smallest, almost-silent exhale.
Sera’s face lights up. “Like Cade? And Fia?”
Grant quirks a brow at me. I can’t help my grin. “Actually, Fia’s my sister.”
Sera’s eyes go the kind of huge I thought only existed in Disney movies. “You’re Fia’s sister? You’re pretty like Fia.”
I die a little bit on the spot. That’s the cutest thing anyone’s ever said to me in my entire life, and I’ve watched at least fifty hours of videos of baby animals in sweaters.
My mouth opens, and all that comes out is this stunned, sappy laugh. “Thank you,” I squeak.
Sera beams, clearly pleased. “You can come to our breakfast meeting if you want.”
Grant’s eyebrows shoot up, but he’s doing his best to look normal.
Sera makes a decisive noise, then obviously decides the conversation is over. She bolts for the kitchen, her little feet thudding over the hardwood. “Papa! Breakfast meeting!”
Grant just stands there, frozen, and I don’t think I’m much different. Then he laughs—a bright, relieved sound.
“I—uh… I should go.” The words come out before I can stop them. Grant looks just as surprised as I am, hearing me say it. “Just—”
“You’re right,” he cuts me off. Even though he’s only agreeing with me, it still hurts.
I try to smile, pretend my heart isn’t collapsing in on itself. “It’s not fair to Sera, or to you. If she tells Marie I was here, it’ll get complicated. I don’t want to make your life harder.” My voice is steady, but only barely.
Grant shakes his head, stepping in close. “I wish you could stay. You have no idea how much.” His hand hovers at my elbow.
I reach out first, hand finding his chest. “You need to talk to Ellie, right?” I keep my voice soft, so Sera can’t hear. “Just in case Marie tries to pull anything. I don’t want to be the reason you lose even a minute with your daughter.”
Grant huffs a humorless laugh. “You wouldn’t be. This is all her. She hates the idea of me being happy.” He shakes his head, jaw flexing. “I’ll call Ellie. We have our next review when I take Sera back in two weeks.”
Grant’s hand covers mine, squeezing once. He leans in until his forehead touches mine.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I know this sucks.”
My mouth quirks, but it’s not really a smile. “I’d rather have to sneak out your back door than not see you at all. Besides, if you’re really lucky, Sera might forget all about me once she’s had enough lime seltzer.”
He snorts, beard twitching. “You might be the only person alive who could win her over that fast.”
“I barely said a word to her.”
He shakes his head. “She likes you already.”
My chest swells with warmth, and I chuff a soft sound before slipping away from him, padding around the bedroom to start collecting my clothes. Grant’s tee goes on the velvet chair, and I wriggle into my dress, fingers clumsy.
When I turn back toward the door, he closes the distance first, palms my jaw, mouth hovering over mine. I lean in, greedy, and his lips crash to mine, hard and frantic, nothing held back. Just the way I like him.
My heart explodes. I kiss him back, gutted and grateful and so fucking desperate to stay, I can barely stand it. Then, against every instinct in my body, I walk out and skip the breakfast meeting.