Page 23 of One and Only

My older brother Erik remembered our dad, just bits and pieces before he left Mom. But my sister Adaline and I were lucky in that way. I had no recollection of the sperm donor.

The only thing I knew was the man who cleaned our scraped knees and helped pull our hair back for ballet recitals and who taught us how to shoot a .22 and throw a punch.

I tore my eyes away from Beckett as he straightened, faced me, and made easy, long-legged strides in my direction. He had the same long-limbed strength as Parker—tall and broad-shouldered, big hands and strong arms.

And still, I couldn’t get a read on his face as he neared where I stood. The only thing I could see was caution.

That, in and of itself, was interesting.

Beckett pulled open the door and motioned for me to go first.

The hallway was empty, the sound muted when the doors swung shut to the field.

“This one is fine,” he said, stopping by the first conference room. When I walked in, there was a whiteboard covered in Xs and Os, the bent arrows scrawled messily around them to denote a play.

I tapped the surface with the tip of my finger. “I’m trying to decide whether this need for secrecy is intriguing or nerve-wracking.”

When I glanced over my shoulder, his brows were furrowed, his mouth bent in a slight frown.

“Why would you be nervous?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Just trying to figure out why we couldn’t talk out there.”

Beckett’s eyes never wavered from mine. “I don’t want Olive around, and I’m pretty sure your brother would go for my head if he heard what I’m about to say to you.”

At that, I turned, settling one hip on a stool in front of the whiteboard and crossing my arms over my stomach. “Really?”

Beckett’s chest expanded on a deep inhale. “Mostly, it’s so Olive doesn’t hear, though.”

“She’s sweet. I’m glad I could meet her before I start working on her room.”

His eyes stayed steady on my face, and I tried to decipher why that sent the slightest of tremors through my body—fingertips to toes.

It was his quiet that had me feeling edgy with nerves.

When he spoke, his voice had warmed slightly. “You were good with her. Not everyone knows how to deal with a shy child.”

“Oh.” I shrugged self-consciously. “I know what it’s like when I don’t want to talk to people. The last thing I want is someone getting in my face and telling me I have to be friendly and smile more. That usually just makes me want to punch them in the throat.”

His gaze sharpened. “That’s what her therapist said in our first meeting. To imagine how we’d feel if someone tried to force us into something we weren’t ready for.”

“Has Olive always been shy?”

He nodded, settling against the edge of the long conference table. “She didn’t talk until she was almost three. We started her in speech therapy when we realized we couldn’t will her into it. When she picked it up so quickly, Josie—Olive’s mom—and I realized that maybe her shyness was why she didn’t talk, not because of any actual speech delay.”

“Is Josie your…?” I let my voice trail off.

“We were never married.” He braced his elbows on the tops of his thighs and let his clasped hands dangle between his legs. “We were … friends, I guess, before she got pregnant with Olive. I’d just moved here, and so had she.” He smiled, but it was self-deprecating. “When she found out she was pregnant, we tried. But it didn’t take long to realize we were better off as friends.”

“And she lives here too?”

He nodded. “About ten minutes away from my new place. She’s getting married next month.”

My eyebrows popped up. “Oh. And that’s a good thing?”

He nodded again, slower this time. “Micah is a nice guy. They’ve been dating for a couple of years.”

I tilted my head. “You mentioned in our meeting last night that Olive will be moving in with you full time. That’s not because Josie’s getting married, is it?”

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