Page 42 of Muddy Messy Love

While it’s my job to raise you, Avery Lee, it’s not my pleasure. It’s not uncommon for women to regret having children, they just rarely admit it.

“Sit, Avery. Tantrums aren’t becoming.”

My mouth slackens as my face flames.

He deems my defence a tantrum?

My fingernails dig crescents into my palms, but I clench them harder, working my jaw. “Did you just tell me to sit? Like a dog?”

Cole chokes on the accusation with a half laugh, half cough. “Not my intended inference,” he claims, but the fact he’s amused at all right now pisses me right off. Fuck this—I should be at home in my studio, covered in clay. Cole mumbles a string of words under his breath, but I only catch the last one. “Feisty.”

My brows hit my hairline. “Did you just call me…feisty? What, like some little woman who dares to voice her warranted rage and look unpretty for five whole minutes? God!” I cackle a deranged laugh and throw my hands in the air. “I never realised Millennials could still be chauvinists. And to think I wasted weeks pining after you!”

The words slip out before I can think, and my hand slaps over my mouth before I can stop it. Why is this man my anti-filter? And why are my emotions magnified by ten when I merely think of him? And where is doormat Aves when I need her? The one who could barely talk to Slade.

“You’ve been…pining after me?” The vertical crease returns, and damn if it isn’t one of the sexiest things about him.

I mash my lips shut, lower my hand, and drag air in through my nostrils. “That’s not what I meant.”

It’s exactly what I meant.

“So you were…lying for dramatic effect?”

Oh boy. I must be due for my period, because every word coming out of this man’s mouth feels like a hot poker up my butt. I try to conjure calm, but it’s the creepy kind of calm. The fleeting transition between angry and bat-shit crazy. I need out of this situation pronto or it won’t end well. “That’s it. We’re done here. Thanks for your help, but I quit. This is feeling a lot like jail.” I frown. “A weird, confusing jail.” Then I turn on my heel and storm for the door, already wondering how this escalated so fast and why I’m so triggered. Blades of regret dice my heart. I don’t want to leave. I adore my job. The kids. Hannah. What have I done? And to top it off, I’ve loved my two weeks of secret pining—of Cole consuming every second thought.

“Avery, wait.”

Oh, thank God. Please stop me, and erase everything you said from my brain; otherwise, I can’t guarantee I’ll back down.

“Please,” he adds desperately.

I halt at the door, tears tumbling, and when I turn around, Cole’s pacing towards me. He stops a foot away, carving fingers through his brandied waves. He clenches his jaw and searches my eyes with an intensity that makes me shiver. He smells like he did the first day we met. Like sandalwood, oak, and the faintest hint of rose, but this time, there’s more. A scent I know well.

Panic.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Your job is safe. Don’t go.” The vulnerability in his voice—his expression—is something I never thought a force like him could feel, and I study him as something invisible between us locks into place—a deep familiarity—an instinctive knowing. The same glimmer of lonely pain.

Cole rests a hand on the door frame above my head and leans in. “Please stay.”

His rough voice rumbles between my legs as I inhale his peppermint breath. “Why? What was all that?”

Sighing, he looks at the ground. “You don’t understand.”

Try me.

“I was…well…” He grimaces like the words hurt. “I was out of line. I jumped to conclusions, and I’m sorry.” He’s holding back, but his sincerity bleeds, and it’s not lost on me how lucky I am. Few employees would survive saying what I did and have their boss apologise, but alas, I’m still miffed. Anger doesn’t have an off switch. It takes time to cool.

“What about the warning?”

“What warning?” His dimple glimmers shyly, and my ego slowly deflates.

“Okay,” I whisper.

Cole’s shoulders sag in relief, as does my heart, but then he slowly reaches up to cup my face. My breath hitches, the contact triggering a flurry of sparks and electric warmth that rolls downmy back and cocoons me from head to toe. A tender smile plays on his lips as he dries my tears with his thumb, and I nuzzle into his palm, closing my eyes. It’s as though my body not only recognises his touch but has spent a lifetime craving the reunion.

“You’re so beautiful,” he rasps, and my lips part. I stare into the depths of his striking jade eyes while he trails his thumb lower, skating the rough pad over my bottom lip while he watches intently. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

My brows furrow, mirroring his, as I wrestle with the feelings that admission stirs—the sparkly ones, the confused ones, the downright suspicious ones—because despite my childish fantasies, none of this makes sense.

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