Page 83 of Wildest Dreams

“Hey,” I said dispassionately, taking the flowers and the heart-shaped chocolate box without so much as thank you. It would have been nicer if he’d brought something for Grav.

Meanwhile, my little girl bolted from the couch, wedging herself between my legs to peer at Tucker with a naughty grin.

“Hi, Uncle Tucker. I heard you’re Mommy’s friend.” She flashed him her tiny white teeth.

I drank in his reaction as he took her in. The cold, unaffected way he scanned her face, almost like he was searching for imperfections, before his mouth settled into a grim smile.

“Hi. You must be Gravity.”

“I am!”

He extended a hand to her. “Tucker. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

Awkward silence blanketed us. He was still on the threshold, and honestly, I wasn’t eager for him to come inside.

“I was thinking maybe we could all go to the zoo today,” I said finally. “The weather is amazing, and Grav and I have been meaning to check out Central Park Zoo. There’s a cheetah exhibit. Grav loves cheetahs.”

“They’re my favorite!” Grav clapped, delighted. “Uncle Tucker, did you know that cheetahs don’t roar? They meow! Like kitties!” She curled her chubby fingers into claws.

“Hmm.” Tucker looked between us distractedly, smoothing out his fancy shirt. “Kinda hot outside, no? Wasn’t planning on getting sweaty.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. We were not getting off to a good start. “Your shirt’ll survive,” I said dryly. “I’ll grab my bag and her sippy cup. Stay here.”

Things got progressively worse when I parked Jimmy outside the zoo and we entered. Tucker complained as if he were the toddler, not Gravity. About the heat, the long line for the tickets, the stroller we rented for Gravity that had one wonky wheel. After seeing the cheetah exhibit and feeding birds in small cups, we stopped for lunch. Gravity accidentally squirted ketchup on his shirt trying to squeeze it onto her fries, and he nearly yelled at her. He kept trying to strike up conversation with me, not her, and I wondered if I was being harsh with him, since he literally had no experience with kids, or if he was just being a straight-up unredeemable asshole.

“So your brother… Doesn’t he want to expand his businesses here in New York?” Tucker asked while I watched the minutes tick by on my phone, praying for salvation.

“I don’t know,” I answered tersely. “I don’t talk shop with him.”

“But what if I sent him a business propos—”

“Uncle Tucker, do you think dolphins can brea—”

“I’m talking, Gravity,” he snapped.

His tone slapped the spirit out of her, and I watched her recoil. My blood zinged through my veins. In that moment, I knew I was capable of physically assaulting him for how he was treating my daughter.

Tucker turned back to me on the bench where we’d taken our lunch. “I was saying, if I were to send him a propo—”

“If you were to send him a proposal,” I started taciturnly, my voice frighteningly cold, “he’d use it to wipe his ass. Like me—and like Rhyland, Cal, and anyone who ever got to know you—he loathes you. Let me be clear once again about what this is. It’s about the one mutual thing we have in common.” I didn’t dare utter her name. As it was, she was busy using a fry to draw something in the mountain of ketchup on her tray. “You’ll get nothing else from it other than a relationship with that person. I don’t want you. Row doesn’t want to work with you. It is solely about her.”

Tucker’s face clouded with rage. I could tell his pride had taken a hit, and even though I didn’t particularly care, that same uneasiness, the sense of danger looming in the air, washed over me.

“Understood,” he clipped out. “How about we take it back to your place? I don’t think I’m the best version of myself when I’m overheated.”

What was he—a fucking sponge cake? Nonetheless, I happened to notice Grav’s cheeks were flushed under her sunscreen too, and it was almost time for her afternoon nap.

“You can’t stay more than half an hour,” I warned. “It’s almost her naptime.”

“Fine.”

We loaded ourselves into Jimmy and made our way back to the apartment. I was a ball of anxiety when I opened the door and invited him in. It felt too much like letting the devil into my den. For his part, Tucker tried to ask Gravity about her toys and stuffies. He shot me a disapproving glance when she introduced Mr. Mushroom to him. I watched them hawkishly, every muscle in my body ready to pounce in case he made a wrong move.

Tucker was on the carpet next to Gravity, doing a puzzle with her, when he shot his head up to eye me. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Fiancé,” I corrected. “And at work.”

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