Page 77 of Piece Of Me

Once her tangles had been dealt with, she left her hair down to dry, then pulled on a pair of blue cotton shorts, an old T-shirt with Foo Fighters across her chest, and a good pair of sneakers. Arty’s was her go-to breakfast place, and though it was only three blocks away, they were city blocks, and it would take a bit to get there. She fed Hank his favorite oatmeal cereal, and dressed him a cute outfit: jean shorts, a T-shirt with a dinosaurs, and a khaki bucket hat to shade his face.

He chatted away, happy In his stroller, his baby talk enough to bring a smile to her face as she made her way outside. August in New York City was usually hot, but this morning the humidity was already high and by the time she made it to Arty’s her skin was damp with sweat. Once inside, the cool air felt like heaven.

The owner, Mabel, spied her and ambled over, a big smile on her face. A large woman with kind face, big smile, and a personality that matched, she was an old friend.

“Scarlett, I was so happy to see you’d called for a reservation. I swear you haven’t been here in over a year.” She smiled down at Hank, who’d fallen asleep on the way there, the warmth and motion of the stroller to blame. “Now I see why. He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said with a chuckle. “Sleeping babies always are.”

Mabel gave her a hug. “I wish I had time to catch up, but I’ve got a corporate thing I’m catering so I’m busy in the back.” She nodded to the corner of the room. “Your table is ready but let’s get together for a coffee before you leave the city.”

Scarlett settled herself so that she had a direct view of the entrance and checked her phone. Malcom had sent her a text fifteen minutes ago and would be there soon. Her stomach was much too nervous for food, and she was too wired for coffee, so she ordered an orange juice and waited.

She knew the moment Malcom arrived, because three ladies in line for bagels, turned and made no effort to hide their interest. She got it. He looked good. More than good. Only she knew his looks hid the kind of rot that destroyed, and face passive, she watched him make his way over, smiling at folks like he was the fucking King of England. When he sat down across from her, she moved her chair slightly, to give herself more room.

To give herself air.

“You look beautiful,” he said, bending forward for a kiss.

She offered her hand instead. It annoyed him, he wasn’t able to hide that, though he quickly recovered and took her hand, and after a few seconds, with a gentle tug, she sat back. The waitress came and Malcom ordered tea and a croissant, then glanced at the stroller for the first time.

Scarlett watched him carefully, hoping for…what? That invisible thread of life that connected a parent to a child? The look of love only a father could have? The same look Taz had when he looked at the twins?

Malcom leaned closer, a smile of sorts on his face. He made no effort to touch Hank. “He’s a handsome little devil.” And that was it. He didn’t ask any questions. He sat back, took his tea, and poured on the charm. He talked about his favorite footballer, some English bloke who’d been riddled in scandal. He mentioned the weather. Twice. Then talked about music and her brother.

The entire time Scarlett wanted to shout at him. To rail and hiss and scream. None of this was about Hank, so what did he want?

“So, where is it you’re staying?” Malcom asked after a while, his dark eyes watchful, his expression shuttered.

“I have a brownstone.”

She saw a flash of something in his eyes. Something ugly and she shifted in her chair, a spiral of wariness rolling through her.

“Well then,” he said leaning close. “I’ll need to work harder to convince you to let me in.” His voice had lowered, the Irish lilt working overtime.

It made her ill to think how easily she’d fallen for his exceptional looks and an accent that most considered sexy as hell.

He raised an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t mind but I’ve planned our day.”

“No,” she said softly. “I don’t mind.”

If he was surprised at her answer he didn’t show it. Instead, he got to his feet and held out his hand.

“Shall we?”

Scarlett stood and now, surer than ever that she needed to find out what his motives were, nodded. She ignored his hand but said dryly. “You might want to get the bill this time.”

She pushed the stroller ahead of Malcom and led the way out of Arty’s. The sun was high, the air was warm, and she was ready. Her mind was clear.

Let the games begin.

CHAPTER 25

By Wednesday Taz was in a black mood. So black that he’d asked his mother to take the girls overnight. He found it hard to stay light and easy when his insides churned out the kind of anger they should never see. It was better that he tried to work it off with good old fashioned hard work than brood and give the twins anxiety.

After his mother had taken the girls back to town—a promise of a playdate with their friends—he’d spent the morning mucking stalls. Then he’d spent the early part of the afternoon riding the fence line and fixing sections that needed fixing. By the time he was done with that it was nearly three in the afternoon and he figured it was as good a time as any to get drunk. A bottle of tequila would go a long way in chasing away the thoughts that plagued him.

Where in hell was Scarlett? More importantly, why was she gone?

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