Page 12 of Beautiful Mess

“Any and all businesses in the area,” she says. “Tonight, when I’m at Beau’s baseball practice, I can compile a list of businesses. Then we can divvy up that list, and each of us will be responsible for reaching out to those places for donations.” She shrugs. “That seems like the easiest and fairest way to do it.”

My gaze fixed on hers, I don’t answer right away. I take in the messy bun on top of her head, the way it’s more on one side than centered, and the way strands poke out of it as if she woke up like that and didn’t bother fixing it. Not surprisingly, her black shirt has flour all over it, despite her not even being in the kitchen when I got here. The whole look makes her appear flustered, yet it somehow works for her. The thick bed of lashes surrounding her vibrant green eyes and the splash of pink on her cheeks, the natural pout to her shimmering lips, even down to the neon pink polish on her nails. While infuriating and bratty, Grace is stunning.

Given our history and her vehement distaste for me, I shouldn’t be noticing my attraction to her, but I can’t help it. It wasn’t always there, of course, and I know exactly when it started. But she’s my son’s ex, and admitting, even to myself, that the night she kissed me, then swiftly chewed my ass out before slamming my truck door, undoubtedly changed the way I saw her is shitty. I mean, Christ, I was thirty-eight when that happened, and she was twenty.

Blowing out a breath and suddenly wanting to get out of the small confines of these four walls as quickly as possible, I mutter, “Fine. That works for me.”

“Really?” her eyebrows hike up.

“Yes, really.” Standing up, she does the same as I say, “I don’t have all day to sit here and go back and forth with you, so get me the list once you have it, and we can go from there.”

By the time I fold the chair and put it back in the corner, Grace is standing by the door, hand on the knob, but she hasn’t opened it yet. “How about we take the week to make all the calls, then meet again next week? Same time.”

With my gaze locked on hers, I nod and take two long strides toward her. “Sounds good, but you better show up on time.”

Like the brat she is, she rolls her eyes and mutters, “Sure thing, Dad.”

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m in front of her, bodies nearly flush as my palms press flat against the door on either side of her head, and I’m dipping my head down beside her ear as I say, “Watch yourself, Sin. With an attitude like that, you’re just asking to be put in your place.” She sucks in a breath, her breasts pressing into my chest from our proximity. “And trust me, you’d be calling me something if that were to happen, but it wouldn’t beDad.”

Exhaling a shaky breath, Grace doesn’t say anything, and when I pull back, her pupils are dilated and her lips are parted, clearly as surprised as I am by what just came out of my mouth. Clearing my throat, I school my features and ignore the thundering beat in my chest as I reach for the doorknob, forcing Grace to step to the side as I draw it open enough for me to slip through.

We share one last tense but silent glance before I leave. Back at the job site, I spend the rest of the afternoon wondering what the hell came over me in her office. It’s a miracle I make it to the end of the day without slicing a finger off or fucking anything up. It’s warmed significantly since this morning, the sun beating down on me as I climb into my truck and head to my ex-wife, Nicolette’s, house to pick up Willow. We share custody, splitting her time between us fifty-fifty. We live a few blocks away from one another, which makes the weekly exchanges easy, for the most part.

Parking in her driveway next to her new husband’s BMW, I climb out and make my way up their walkway. Rapping my knuckles on the screen door, Nicolette calls out, “Come in,” before poking her head around the corner in the kitchen. I step into the house and kick off my filthy shoes at the door, even though I don’t plan to be here very long, before sauntering farther into the house. Glancing up from the stove, where she’s fixing dinner, she smiles. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going.”

“Will’s in her room finishing packing her stuff,” she offers. “She’ll be down in a minute.”

“Oh, hey, man,” Tad, Nicolette’s husband, greets me as he waltzes into the kitchen.

Dragging my gaze over to him, I nod by way of greeting.

“Don’t forget, Willow starts gymnastics this week,” Nicolette reminds me just as my daughter comes downstairs. “It’s the day after tomorrow at six. You good to take her?”

“I already told you I was,” I breathe out.

Nicolette and I get along just fine, and we have a pretty good co-parenting relationship, but one of her favorite things to do is tell me about things I’m already well aware of, as if I’ve ever dropped the ball on a commitment I’ve made.

Chuckling, she says, “Okay, just making sure. I know you’re busy.”

I flit my gaze to Willow, a smile tugging on my lips. “Ready to go, Peanut?”

“Yeah!” She runs over to her mom, wrapping her arms around her. “Bye, Mom. Love you.” Then gives Tad a quick hug too. “Bye, Tad.”

At the truck, I take her bags from her, tossing them in the back before we climb in. “Hungry?” I ask as I back out of their driveway.

“Yeah, I’m starving. I didn’t like the snack they had at the after-school program.”

“Yeah? What was it?”

“It was the pretzel goldfish.” The way she says it, you’d think they offered her liver and onions. “I love pretzels and I love goldfish, but they aren’t supposed to be combined,” she adds with all the dramatic sass I’ve come to expect out of a ten-year-old girl.

My only other kid is Cole, who hasn’t been ten in many years. To say I was a bit rusty at raising a small child when Willow was born would be an understatement. Cole’s mom, Mel, was my first wife. We got married right out of high school when we found out she was pregnant. Cole’s delivery was traumatic for Mel, so one was enough for her, and I was fine either way. When we eventually divorced when Cole was thirteen, I had no plans of having any more kids. Then I met and married Nicolette and, surprisingly, got her pregnant on our honeymoon.

The marriage didn’t even last until our second anniversary before finding out she was cheating on me with her boss. While the marriage didn’t work and it took me a long time to get past the anger that came along with what she did, I could never regret any of it because it gave me the best surprise I could’ve asked for.

After my divorce—making it the second under my belt—I decided relationships weren’t for me. Especially because I found myself wondering a heck of a lot in the beginning if I’d ever be able to trust somebody again after Nicolette betrayed me. Things between us had been rocky, butthatwas something I never saw coming. I’d never felt so blindsided. Guess it left me a little jaded. Casual hookups are all I’ve been comfortable doing since, and it’s going just fine. I do better by myself. With the hours I work, it’s hard to find somebody who would put up with that. I’m practically married to my business, and I’m more than content to keep it that way.

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