Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“I can stay in town until then. I took a leave of absence from work.”
“Fine.” He walked to the door and opened it. “I’ll text you a time and the address.”
Biting her lip, she set the pen down. “Are you sure I can’t take her with me? I’m not trying to keep her from you permanently.”
“I’m sure. You’ll see her on Monday. And then two weeks after that.”
Rachel looked defeated, but she nodded. “Can I kiss her goodbye?”
“No.”
“Nate,” I said softly. Not because I liked Rachel or was remotely on her side, but because as a child of divorce I appreciated the effort to compromise where children were concerned.
He met my eyes, and for a moment I thought he was going to tell me this was none of my business—he’d have been right, too. But instead he closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine.”
Once more, he handed Paisley over to her mother. The poor little thing was probably wondering what the heck was going on the way she was being passed like a basketball back and forth between them, although she wasn’t fussing about it.
Rachel hugged and kissed her, promised to see her the day after tomorrow, and gave her back to Nate. Then she picked up her purse from the floor and walked out.
Nate shut the door behind her and stood facing it.
I felt like I’d been holding my breath for hours. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“That was…a surprise.”
“Yeah.” He held his daughter close, kissed her head.
“Want me to get a bath going for her?” I asked.
“Sure. Thanks.” All the life had gone out of his voice.
We bathed and fed Paisley, ordered dinner in, and ate it sitting on the floor while she played on a blanket—although Nate didn’t eat much, and he still wasn’t very talkative. When Paisley started to get tired and crabby, Nate took her upstairs while I put the leftovers away and loaded the dishwasher. I kept telling myself not to read too much into Nate’s mood, that it had nothing to do with me, but it was hard not to internalize it at least a little.
When he came down, he made us each a cocktail, and we spent the evening watching Bond on the couch like we used to. Only…it wasn’t as much fun.
Nate was shutting down on me—I could sense it. He remained silent the entire time. He didn’t laugh at any jokes or comment on Connery’s superior Bondness or make any attempt to touch me. Half the time, he wasn’t even looking at the screen. I’d look over and see him staring into space, his expression troubled. Something was really wrong.
When the movie was over, I turned off the television and scooted closer to him, slipping my arm through his and laying my head on his shoulder.
“Hey, neighbor. What’s going on with you?”
“Sorry. I’m not very good company tonight.”
He didn’t answer the question. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s been kind of an emotional day. The visit home, and then Rachel showing up wanting to take the baby back.”
“Yeah.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Okay. Well, I’m here if you do.” I put my head down again, totally baffled. This was not the Nate I’d been with last night. It wasn’t even the Nate from Coney Island earlier today. I tried to think of when he’d started putting the walls back up—was it at his mother’s house? On the ride home?
And why?
“I want you to know, I was really proud of you today,” I told him.
“For what?”
“For not giving up on your mother. For standing up to Rachel. For not letting Paisley go early.”
“I didn’t even consider it. In fact, when Rachel threatened to take her, something in me went a little caveman. I was not going to let her take my daughter away from me.”
“Of course not.” I loved the ferocity in his voice. And he looked so handsome sitting there, with that stubborn jaw set just so and his hair all tousled.
I put my hand on his thigh and spoke seductively. “Want some help working off all that tension?”
He looked at my hand and cleared his throat. “I’m not really in the mood.”
Hurt, I pulled my hand away. “Oh. Okay.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay. It’s been a long day. You’re probably tired.”
“Yeah.”
An awkward, awkward silence followed. What was going on? “I’ll head home, I guess.” I wanted him to argue. I wanted him to put his arms around me. I wanted him to tell me that last night wasn’t just a dream, because at this point, I was beginning to think I’d imagined it.
What he said was, “Yeah, that’s probably best. I think we could both use some space.”
I froze. “What?”
“Some space. I think we’ve been…rushing things.”
I stared at his profile. Was I hearing him right? “You want space?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’m feeling a little crowded, okay? You probably are too.”