Page 20 of Second Chance Christmas

Was she thinking the same thing? She sat up straighter, her eyes wide. “What about?”

“Tell me about Audrey,” he invited, sensing that the subject would bring her genuine pleasure, and wanting to give her that more than anything.

And he’d been right.

When she started to talk about her daughter, Cassidy’s face lit up. Her eyes shone and she smiled in a way that was so reminiscent of how she’d been as a young woman that a strange type of grief settled upon him. Because it was close, but not quite. Always in her eyes, there lurked an emotion he didn’t understand. A strained tightness in the lines of her face, in the set of her lips, even when curved upwards. A wariness that made him want to lean forward and grip her face in both hands, hold her steady and kiss her.

Hell, he was so close to doing exactly that, dishes all done, when the front door closed with a loud-enough click to be heard even in the kitchen.

“Evening, lovey,” Harry called, softly enough not to wake Audrey.

“Hi dad,” Cassidy called back.

Harry walked into the kitchen, saw Leonardo and held out his hand to shake. Had Leo imagined the slight pause though? The hesitation?

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“He came to show Audrey some football stuff,” Cassidy said quickly, guilt making her skin flush. “I let him cook me dinner afterwards. I mean, it’s not every day you get coached by the most know-it-all five year old football fan in the world.”

Leonardo grinned. “She did have some tips for me.”

“I’m not surprised,” Harry laughed, clapping Leonardo on the back.

“Have you eaten?” Leonardo asked.

“Nah, I’ll make a sandwich.”

“I made you a meal when I was doing ours. I raided your freezer, too, sorry. I’ll replace the steaks tomorrow.”

“No need, son,” Harry said, grinning. “You always were a good cook.”

Cassidy stood abruptly, her face tense again. Damn it. He couldn’t keep her on an even keel. He wanted to see inside of her head, to understand every thought she had, everything that was making her react as she was.

“Well, I’m exhausted,” she said with a lift of her shoulders. “I think it’s time for me to go to bed.”

“Alright, darling.” Harry kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “Sleep tight.”

“You too, dad.” Then, with a quick, almost dismissive glance at Leo, “Good night, Leonardo. Thanks for dinner.”

Six

ON THE LIST OF unhealthy behaviours, he was pretty sure running an internet search on your ex-girlfriend’s ex-husband was pretty high on the list, but nonetheless, that’s what Leonardo found himself doing the next night, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

It was a terrible idea.

Grant Burrows was handsome, tall, broad-chested, and twelve years older than Cassidy. He’d been married once before, and hadn’t had children in that marriage. He was a long-serving Member of Parliament, though had yet to be appointed to a cabinet position, despite having spoken openly about his desire for a broader role in government.

All very bland.

But it was the photos with Cassidy that did something awful to Leonardo’s equilibrium. Just seeing the other man’s hand possessively on the small of her back, the way her slender frame was pressed against his far bigger body made Leo break out in a cold sweat. There was another picture where Cassidy’s arm was in a sling, and Grant was gently guiding her from the back of the car, a solicitous look of concern on his face that made Leonardo want to punch something. He wondered how she’d hurt her arm, whether it had been broken or just fractured. He wondered if she’d been in an accident, and if it was the same accident that had caused the scarring on her side. He flicked past the photo, onto the next one, and groaned angrily.

He hated the sight of them together.

He hated how quickly she’d gone from him to Grant. He hated it, because it made him wonder if she’d been so swept off her feet, so in love, that she’d moved on with her life without a backwards glance, while it felt like all Leo had done for the last six years was stare in a rearvision mirror.

Because he’d made a mistake, he told himself. Because he’d had a critical lapse in judgement and hurt someone he loved. Not because he still loved her, but because he wished he could undo everything that had happened that night.

But the photographs made him look deeper, to admit to himself that he was jealous. Jealous as all hell. Because for the duration of their marriage, which had presumably included several good years, this guy had got to touch Cassidy whenever they wanted. Had got to be a part of her life. Had she sat on the kitchen bench with her legs dangling over it as Grant did the dishes? Had he made her laugh? Had he run her baths and cooked her meals?

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