Page 44 of Falling for the Single Daddy

“She works for us.” Gray glances at me, his eyes glistening. For a crazy second, I think he might cry. Then he hardens himself. Absurdly, his words stab at me almost painfully, as though he has no right to say this. But, of course, he does. It’s the truth. It’s what’s best for Emery. “It’s not fair to ask her questions about whether or not she loves you. As a nanny, it’s not her place to make comments like that.”

Emery folds her arms stubbornly. “Butyoulove Callie.”

I gasp. A tremor goes through Gray, his temples pulsing. “Emery…”

“Youdo, Daddy,” she says as though it’s obvious. “You’re really happy now, always smiling. And you come home from work earlier. And you’re laughing, like, alot. And you always look at her and get this funny and really cool look in your eyes. Andwhen me and Callie are together, you look at us and it just makes me feel all fuzzy inside. You love her, Daddy. I love her. We both love Callie.”

My head is swimming. I knew she was precocious, but this is too much.

Gray closes his eyes for a moment, then slowly opens them and looks at me. “Callie,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I think I should have dinner with my daughter alone tonight.”

I can tell how difficult this is for him to say. It’s like he’s forcing the words out. It’s unfair for me to be offended, hurt, or feel anything about this. He’s got every right to react this way.

“That’s fine,” I murmur.

“But I made dinner, Daddy!” Emery says, starting to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Gray says. “But I can’t let this happen.”

“Let—what—huh-happen?”

“I can’t let you think Callie is your mommy, Emery. Because what if Callie gets a new job? What if it doesn’t work out between us? What if she has to move on? You can’t get too attached.”

Emery turns to me, her eyes flooded with tears. It takes everything I have not to rush to her and sweep her into my arms. Unfairly, I want to hold her tightly and tell her I’m not going anywhere. Tell her that I’m never going to leave her. I want to make a bunch of unrealistic promises.

“You’re not getting a new job,” Emery yells.

“I’m sorry, Emery. I’m going to eat dinner alone tonight. I’m very grateful for the gesture. But your dad’s right. We need to do what’s best for you. We can’t risk your feelings.”

“You’rehurtingmy feelingsnow,” she cries.

That stabs me like a knife. But I force one step in front of the other. It reminds me of when I was walking out of the cult, just one foot, then another, doing my best to leave the past behind. I don’t want to leave Emery or Gray behind—I want to sit in that petal-covered library and sip our drinks as we wait for our little waitress to make us dinner. I want to bond with Gray and Emery. I want to make promises about the future. I want to commit.

That means a lot from a woman who’s spent almost the entire last decade running.

Chapter Twenty-One

Gray

Emery says nothing during dinner, staring down at her plate. At least she’s stopped crying. All during her bedtime routine, she’s silent. When she goes to bed, and I ask her if she wants me to read her a story, she just shakes her head and rolls over, pushing her face into the pillow. I feel like the world’s biggest jackass, but at the same time, what was I supposed to do? Let Callie tell Emery that she loves her? Let Emery believe that she could play Cupid and push me and Callie together?

I love her. We both love Callie.

That’s one hell of a mindfuck. It’s like my baby saw right into my heart. But I don’tloveCallie, do I? A man can’t fall in love in such a short amount of time. Callie’s special, interesting, funny, intelligent, strong, captivating, magnetic. She’s beautiful. She’s the most enthralling woman I’ve ever met. But love?

I find myself standing at the rear window, looking across the yard, past the vegetation, to the guesthouse. The front light is on as if she’s calling to me. I watch as her silhouette passes across the glass. She looks like she’s rushing around like she’s… is that a suitcase in her arms? I lean against the glass, my heartbeat suddenly speeding up.

I’m about to walk out there when my cell phone rings. It’s Sloane. I don’t want to answer, but I haven’t got much choice. I need to know where her twisted thoughts are at. “Let’s meet tomorrow,” she says, no hello or greeting.

I grit my teeth.No, you psycho.But despite what else is true about her, I can’t speak to the mother of my child like that. “For what?” I ask.

“I want to speak in person. One-on-one, when I’m not drunk or…”

“High?” I say.

“I didn’t handle the other night very well. I’ll fully admit to that.”

I sigh. What else can I say? “Where? When?”

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