Page 118 of Daddy By Design

“Maybe I want to know more about you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” she exploded and pushed me back as the notebook dropped to the floor. “You make me come my brains out but the idea of having a real conversation with me makes you defensive. You buy this amazing house and want to bring it back to life, you’re related to one of my best friends, and I know nothing about you.”

“Do you know all these details about your other clients?”

She flinched as I’d slapped her, and I cursed.

“Right. You know what? You’re absolutely right.”

“Dahlia—”

“Nope. Just because we stupidly decided to get naked a few times, that doesn’t mean you need to share anything with me. I don’t have any hold on you. I’ll get out of your hair. I’ll continue to look for somewhere for Gizmo, but I appreciate you letting him stay here for now.”

I picked up the notebook from the floor and tucked it under my arm. I didn’t know what to say. I’d already fucked it up with her, anyway.

“Right. I’m just going to get out of here.” Her eyes were a little too bright.

My gut churned. I’d obviously hurt her, but it was better to hurt her a little now, than to have her get too attached to me. I fucked things up with everyone eventually.

Gizmo seemed to understand that his mistress was upset and wound around her ankles. She scooped him up. “You be a good boy, okay? I’ll be back tomorrow morning to feed you.” She glanced at me, but more like over my shoulder as if she didn’t really want to look at me. “Could you open one of the blue cans and put it in his dish at six?”

I nodded.

Seemed inadequate, but that was where I was at right now. Anything else out of my mouth would probably hurt her even more.

She kissed the top of the cat’s head and set him down before she rushed out the door.

I threw the notebook against the wall, and it dropped to the floor, opening to the page with the owl drawing. “Fuck!”

I went to pick it up and it slid away from me and across the room.

“Look, Harriette, we’re going to have to find some way to live together. I ain’t leaving.”

The pages ruffled before slamming shut again.

I wasn’t certain exactly what kind of reply that was, but I was going to take it as acceptance. She better concede since I sure as shit wasn’t going to.

TWENTY-FOUR

Sunday morning rolled around with far too much sun and heat. I was just going to drop off the food and make my excuses to Macy. I'd slept for shit. I missed my cat, and my house was too damn quiet without him.

Nolan had sent me a text that he’d covered breakfast which only heaped on the guilt since I hadn’t gotten up early to feed him. First day, and I’d already screwed up.

Not to mention I'd been too tired to strip my bed and change the sheets when I got home. The stupid scent of cinnamon had chased me through far too many dreams where I was running after some shadow.

My shitty love life? Harriette? Who knew?

Eventually, I'd given up on sleep and sat up reading Harriette's journal until the damn birds started singing.

I looked like crap, and I was sad because that poor woman had lost so much.

Is that what she’d wanted me to know?

She’d definitely made sure I’d noticed this particular diary when I had been in that room.

The pages had been full of her longing for a baby. Of her visits with friends and seeing their children grow and how she’d felt so bereft after her stillborn baby, along with four other miscarriages previously. Not exactly unheard of for the 1800s, but it was still heartbreaking.

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