Page 189 of Mr. Infuriating

“Does that mean you’re…?”

I set my pencil down and looked him in the eye.

“Your dad and I are at different stages in life. His chicks will be flying the coop before he knows it, while one of mine just hatched, with hopefully more on the way.”

Keeping with my analogy, he replied with a grin, “I think my dad would be a great rooster for your chicks.”

Me, too.

Of course I couldn’t share that with him.

“You know I adore you, but this isn’t a conversation we should be having.”

“I just see how much he cares about you. We want him to be happy, you know? He was happy when you and Jake were staying with him.”

This kid was going to make me break down crying.

“He was a very gracious host.”

“Don’t you think—”

I cut him off by handing him a practice test for a World History quiz I knew he had on Friday. One of the perks of tutoring at the school on Tuesdays.

With a smirk, I said, “You’ve got fifteen minutes,” as I stood up and set the timer on my watch.

I debated whether to go into the kitchen. Things between Gabe and I were tense. Although I wasn’t sure why he cared about Troy seeing Jake.

The sound of my son’s giggles compelled me to see what was going on.

I walked in just as Jake slapped Gabe’s shoulder and said, “Oh, Bandit,” while wearing a big grin.

Britt had a pair of safety goggles on top of her head, and a drill on the counter nearby, while she concentrated on the level she had lined against the wall.

I loved that Gabe didn’t care about gender roles and was teaching his daughter how to do his job. All while making my child laugh.

I wanted to blame him for hurting me, but I couldn’t. He’d never lied to me. I bore the responsibility for letting my heart get involved when I’d told him I wouldn’t.

But now my kid’s heart was involved, too.

It was painfully obvious Jake needed his dad.

God, I hoped Troy stepped up.

“Whatcha guys doing?”

Gabe’s smile fell when he saw me.

Ouch.

Britt answered, “Dad’s teaching me how to put trim up, and Jake is helping.”

Jake proudly patted his chest and proclaimed, “I help, Mama!”

“That’s great. Are you doing a good job, baby?”

Gabe answered on my son’s behalf.

“Of course he is! When he’s not laughing!”

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