Page 16 of Secret Baby for Dr. Grump

“That’s a fucking lie.” His voice is a growl. His eyes flash hot and furious. “What’s the number?”

“What does it matter now? It was the number of a restaurant.”

“I still have the number now.”

I open my mouth, but he recites it first. I frantically recall the number he gave me years ago—the one I tried to call three times—and a hint of familiarity kicks in.

“That’s the number…kind of.”

“Kind of?”

I shrug. “One digit off. Which was probably?—”

“Not deliberate. I wouldn’t do that.”

He looks so confused, which makes me confused, too. But my mind is reeling, already two steps ahead with the dawning comprehension that he must have inputted one digit wrong. I open my mouth, then close it, unsure what to say.

“I-If you say so.”

Warning bells ring in my head when his confusion clears and he gives me a sharp look.

“Also, unless you tried to call me, you wouldn’t know it was the number of a restaurant.”

It’s a challenge. I stiffen. “Maybe I tried to call you once.”

“I kept waiting.”

“What?”

“I extended my stay in Connecticut and waited for the call. I tried looking for you, too, but I just had your name. Liv. I didn’t even have Olivia.”

It’s like getting slapped with shock after shock, sending me reeling. Then my name on his lips—the name that he’s been avoiding to say for a while now—sends a tingle down my spine.

“I didn’t know that.” I swallow. “That you stayed.”

Meanwhile, I’ve been oblivious, not knowing that a few weeks later, I would be having the most life-altering moment of my life.

But it doesn’t change anything, right?

I still wasn’t able to contact him. I still did everything alone. That has to be a sign, right?

“I did.” Brown eyes meet mine. “And you wanted to call me. Because you still wanted me.”

I straighten my shoulders, the self-defense snapping into place. But my heart pounds hard and the rest of my body hums with the tension rapidly building in the small space. I swallow again, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“Years ago, yes, but that was…” Long ago. So much has changed, and yet, the look in his eyes is the same. “What are you looking at?”

His gaze is too much—like he sees too much.

“You still want me.”

It’s not a question. Desperation seizes me not to give myself away and I glare at him. “That’s a goddamn lie.”

Silence. Then he leans in, his face close to mine, breath so warm and ragged.

Eyes so dark and dangerous.

“Then say it to my face. Say you don’t want me anymore, Liv.”

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