Page 10 of Enemy Ex's Secret Baby

His forehead pinches in the center.

“I’m done,” I repeat. “You know my position and I know yours.”

“You’re making this so hard on yourself, Gillian.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m making it hard on you. That’s what you don’t like. And, Axel, there is nothing I like more than making your life difficult.”

We stare at each other, the song that means so much to our pathetic story playing in the background.

Axel sucks on his lower lip and nods. “Alright. Point taken.”

It better be.

4

AXEL

The rest of the visit to the ice cream parlor is tense. Thank god Stella is there to make things a little easier. She’s none the wiser to the awkwardness between her mother and myself. She manages to lead us in a bright, bubbling conversation about music. She’s a charismatic little girl who loves roller-skates and struggles with math (her words, not mine).

Once she’s managed to get down more of her ice cream cone than a girl her size should be able to, we decide to call it a night, or should I say, Gillian decides to call it a night.

I can feel the regret pouring off of her as we walk back to my car. Why did I offer to drive and extend this misery?

I don’t know what I was thinking trying to convince her to back down from her protests. Gillian Solace never backs down from anything. I should know.

“What’s your address?” I ask in a small voice after we pile into the car.

Gillian holds her hand out for my phone without saying anything. I give it to her; she types in the address quickly before handing it back to me. Her eyes are staring squarely straight ahead.

“Jeez, tough crowd,” I say with a little wry humor.

The car is silent.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Gillian lives in Silver Lake, close to the bakery she and Lola run. I’ve been trying to get them a space in Hollywood for a second location. I’m very tempted to stop my search on that because of Gillian’s attitude, but Lola is my sister. I’ll do it for her, even if I’m gritting my teeth the whole time.

“Can you turn on the radio?” Stella asks from the backseat.

I eye her in the rearview mirror as we get on the highway and smile. “Sure, kiddo.”

I hear Gillian huff in the seat beside me. Didn’t know “kiddo” was so inflammatory to her. I turn on the radio, static settling out into a rock song I can’t identify because my brain is filled with swarming thoughts.

I get it. I ambushed her. But it’s the only way I can get a word in with her these days. Lola has made the bakery strictly off-limits for any sort of business talk because of the time Gillian and I were mid-argument in the kitchen and she burst a piping bag full of frosting all over the place due to her temper.

If her anger wasn’t directed at me, I’d say it was sexy. Otherwise, it’s just terrifying.

We continue down the highway until the appropriate exit and, as I turn onto the residential streets, I glance into the rearview again to look at Stella.

She’s slouched over against the window, mouth lolled open with sleep. Gosh, what a cutie. I can never stay mad at Gillian for too long when I remember how sweet her little girl is. Gillian might hate my guts (perhaps deservedly…), but she’s doing something right with her daughter, that’s for sure.

I feel a pang in my chest. I’m thirty-two. No prospects. And no intention of settling down or finding a woman. I’ve felt that way for years now.

Sometimes, though, in moments like this…well, I can’t help but think about fatherhood. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little part of me running around, combined with a part of someone else I hopefully loved with all my heart and soul?

Parenting is hard work. The hardest job I can fathom. I don’t want to negate that. However, the older I’ve gotten and the more people I know having had babies, the more worthwhile it seems.

“The yellow door on the left,” Gillian says softly, pointing out the window.

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