Page 49 of Single Mom's Daddies
There’s a beat of silence. And then—movement. Not from either of them. From the hallway. My body snaps alert. I cross the room in three strides and yank it open.
Saffron stands there. She blinks up at me, wide-eyed, hand halfway raised like she was about to knock.
“Saffron,” I say, too sharply.
She takes a small step back after clocking my expression. “What’s wrong?”
“What did you hear?”
“Nothing. I just came from the kids’ room. They’re down for their nap. I was on my way to the kitchen.”
Roman’s behind me, still standing stiffly at the desk. Victor’s pacing again, slower now, but his fists are still clenched. I step fully into the hallway, closing the door behind me so the rest of it stays inside.
She watches me, eyes scanning my face.
And I really look at her.
Her curls are pulled back into a loose twist. There’s a smudge of something faint on her cheek—probably flour. She must’ve helped the kids with snack prep earlier. Her lips are parted slightly, like she hasn’t caught her breath yet. She smells likevanilla and citrus, and something warmer underneath. Skin. Heat. Something that uncoils low in my stomach.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says, softer now.
I should send her away. I don’t. Instead, I lean a little closer. “How long were you standing here?”
“I told you, I was just passing by.”
“You sure?”
She lifts her chin. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“I’m asking what you heard.”
She crosses her arms, and I’m struck again by how strong she is—how she doesn’t flinch when pressed. “Angry voices. No words. That’s it.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
I study her. And then something shifts.
I don’t know if it’s the way her arms are crossed—pushing her chest up just slightly under the curve of that soft, fitted tee—or if it’s the way her breath stutters when I take a step closer. But suddenly, the blood that was boiling with rage at the Costellos is headed somewhere else entirely.
It doesn’t help that I remember exactly what her lips taste like.
I take another step. “You always show up when I’m angry.”
She tilts her head. “You’re always angry, so you make it easy.”
I smile. It’s not a kind smile.
She sees that. But she doesn’t back up. “You gonna tell your boss I was eavesdropping?”
“You think I’m not the boss?”
“You’re not. That’s Roman.”
“But I’m the one who always ends up cleaning up the mess.”
She laughs once, short and breathy. “So what now?”
