Page 99 of Single Dad Dilemma
Griffin grinned. “Yeah. But, uh, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You only get that worked up about someone when they’re really under your skin.”
Anticipation had my stomach in knots. To talk to her. To find out what she’d said that had her so upset. Just ... everything. I anticipated Lily, in every way she’d allow me to have her.
After the car left, I walked over to the house and knocked on the front door.
Nothing.
Hands cupped around the glass, I peered in through the side windows, but there was no movement. The TV was dark, only one lamp on in the living room, but the lights were on in the entryway. I reached over to press the doorbell.
“No, thank you,” she yelled.
“Lily, open the door. Please.”
The entryway lights turned off.
I knocked once more and tried the doorbell, but then I heard the slamming of a door inside the house, and I looked up at the sky.
The flakes weren’t big and fluffy anymore, instead coming down sideways, swirling in the gusts of wind. I wasn’t wearing a coat, and my hands were absolutely frozen.
“I’m going back,” I yelled at the door. “But only because I don’t really feel like getting hypothermia. I’m going to call you, okay?”
There was a loud thumping noise on the other side of the door, then a muttering sound, and I wondered if she’d kicked a wall or something. I jogged back over to my house and stomped the snow off my boots before walking in the front door, toeing them off onto the mat and going straight for my phone where I’d left it on the kitchen counter.
The phone rang and rang; eventually the sound of her voicemail picked up.
“Hi, this is Lily. I don’t listen to voicemails, but I do answer texts. I trust you can make the right decision with this information.”
A sigh burst out of me, and I scratched the back of my neck.
Me:Will you please talk to me?
Lily:Nope. Can’t.
Me:As happy as it makes you to yell at me, I’d think you’d leap at this chance.
Lily:Sorry. I’ve reached my word quota for the day.
Me:Lily, please.
And then nothing. Our text thread showed a message that she’d silenced her incoming notifications, and I let my phone fall out of my hand with a loud clatter. Hands braced on the counter, I allowed my head to hang down while I tried to figure out what to do.
Maybe she did need some space.
But it felt wrong to just let this go. I picked up my phone again and sent her one more text, then forced myself to go do some work while the snow continued to fall.
Three hours later, the house shook, buffeted by the relentless wind as it howled outside. Glancing up from where I sat with my laptop, I was stunned at how much snow we’d gotten since I’d settled in with work.
Pushed around by the wind, the snow had formed serpentine drifts along the back of the house, coming halfway up the slider by this point in the day. My phone remained quiet, but I checked my messages anyway.
Another gust of wind kicked up, and I watched the branches of the trees bend to the merciless force. A large branch snapped off the oak tree in the corner of our yard, immediately disappearing into the snow. The kids would’ve gotten a kick out of that.
I heard another crack of a tree branch—this time coming from the front of the house—and when the lights flickered but held, I thanked my past self for installing a whole-house generator as soon as we’d moved in, just in case the power eventually went out.
My thumb drummed on the table as I stared in the direction of the house holding the woman currently ignoring me. She’d never lived through a major winter storm and didn’t own a home. Would she know how to hook up a generator? If they even had one ...
Picking up my phone, I shot a quick text to Scott asking if he had a generator, and he replied immediately.
Scott:Hey, Coach. We don’t, unfortunately. Starter button died on the last one and I never got around to replacing it before we left. How is it up there?
