Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
She shuts the door behind me, then returns to the stairs to rest her hands on the top of the spindle. Smiling like we’re old friends is the dead giveaway that she’s up to something.
“What?” I ask, smart enough to learn from past mistakes. We may have settled the custody battle, but that doesn’t make us best friends.
“What?” she retorts, genuinely perplexed by the confusion written in her features. “I’m just being social. Can’t I be friendly without an accusation accompanying it?”
Not judging by our history, but maybe she’s changed. She huffs in annoyance. “I wanted to share that I got offered a promotion.”
Although this is none of my business, I know she works hard. It’s paid off in her success. “Congratulations. I’m sure it’s well-deserved.”
“In Paris.”
My heart halts in my chest. My breathing stalls in my throat. I don’t respond quick enough for her, so she adds, “Marcel thinks this is it. If I don’t take it, I’ll never be offered another.”
Staring at her, I cinch my brow together. “Who’s Marcel?”
“The gentleman I’ve been seeing.” Her expression portrays calm, but I can see her searching my eyes for a reaction. “It’s . . .” She looks at the floor between us as if the words are there before her eyes return to me. “Serious.”
Serious? Her dating life is of no interest to me. Her boyfriends being involved in our son’s life is, though. “Beckett hasn’t mentioned him.”
“He hasn’t met him,” she replies casually.
“How is it serious if your son hasn’t met him?”
She takes a breath and glances up the stairs. “I didn’t know it was serious, and then it was.”
The puzzle pieces come together. “So this Marcel is French?”
“He is and lives in Paris, where the company is headquartered.”
“So this promotion—”
“Came without his influence though I know that’s what you thought. He does make the offer more intriguing. And the money would be hard to turn down.” She toes the floor with her flat dress shoe. I’ve never seen her . . . softer.
But my chest tightens when it becomes clear what she’s really saying. “You want to take Beck to live in Paris?”
“I don’t know what I want. It’s all happening very quickly, but they’ve given me time to think about it.”
“This isn’t a decision you make alone.”
“I’m well aware of that, so I’ll keep you updated on how things progress or don’t.” She’s allowed to have job offers, promotions, hell, to even move if she wants. But locally, where I can still see my son per our agreement. “Things are so complicated. I’m sure nothing will come of it.”
“Something to drink?” She turns to weave through the living room of the brownstone and into the back where the kitchen is located.
“No. Thanks.” He’s taking too long, so I glance up the stairs. “Hey, Beck? Come on, buddy.”
She returns with two glasses of cold water and hands one to me. “Do you have any plans for the week?” she asks like we didn’t just have a conversation that might rip my kid away from me, making small talk like we do it all the time. Beck is supposed to be ready so we don’t have to speak at all.
“No big plans. The park today—”
“Keep him off the merry-go-round.” The park always sets her off. It’s like she never had fun as a kid. “Remember how he almost fractured his elbow.”
“I remember how he didn’t fracture his elbow.” She hates being challenged, but a chance of breaking a bone is not the same as breaking a bone. I don’t want him living secured in bubble wrap. I let him play but am right there to keep him safe when needed.
“Funny,” she replies, not laughing at all and smoothing her hair along the side of her head. “It was a close call.” She sips her water like she has the final say.
For me, it’s not worth the argument.
Eyeing the glass in my hand, she asks, “You’re not drinking? Don’t trust me not to poison you?” She laughs again.
What is it with women always talking about ways to kill me? “It wasn’t something I was worried about until now.” I’m still not going to drink it. Pretending that hanging out is normal is outside the boundaries that I’d like to keep in place. “Hey, Beck? Hurry up.”
“I don’t know what he’s doing up there. Probably playing with those plastic horses he wanted. Anyway, why are you so moody?”
“You got him horses?” Finally, something worth talking about.
“Yes. I said he could pick out a toy at the store last week, and he chose a set of two horses.” She’s sipping her water like she’s been stuck in the desert for days. I’m starting to wonder if she’s nervous or needs to see a doctor. One thing I don’t like is when she acts out of character. That means there’s more going on that I know will affect me. “He named them Bluebelly and Skyward. What strange names.” Another sip. “Don’t you think, Tagger?”