Author: Kristan Higgins

“A Chagall nightmare,” she said. “Aren’t we cultured.”

“I lived in L.A. I’m incredibly cool,” he said, his eyes dropping to her mouth, and her toes curled in her silly shoes.

“Oh, dear. Mom’s gesturing,” Jon said. “Come, Henry. We’re needed.”

“I just sat down,” he protested.

“Come! Be a good son. See you two later.” Jon leaned down to kiss Posey’s cheek. “Don’t eat dumplings in front of him. That detachable jaw of yours is scary,” he whispered and then pulled his partner away.

Liam stared at his kid, and Posey tried not to stare at him. But it was hard. He was undeniably the best-looking guy on earth, and she couldn’t really blame the women who cut glances his way, or waved or called hello.

“Thanks again for your jacket,” she said after a minute or two had passed. “I’ll give it back to you tomorrow.”

“Sure,” he said, nodding at someone.

Posey realized abruptly that her regular clothes were downstairs, and she could change right then and there…indeed, she should’ve changed already, but clearly part of her wanted to hang on to the jacket, because apparently she was still the dopey teenager she’d been fifteen years ago.

“Dad? Can Tanner and I take a walk around the block?” Nicole asked.

“No,” Liam answered.

“Daddy, it’s broad daylight, and downtown is mobbed. Totally safe. Right, Posey?”

“True enough,” she said, earning a smile from the girl. Tanner wisely stayed silent.

Liam cut his eyes to Posey’s. She smiled. He didn’t. A little chilly, those eyes. Then he looked back at his daughter. “Fifteen minutes. And bear in mind that I can see halfway around the block from here, and yes, I will be watching. Got it, son?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Murphy. Fifteen minutes.” Tanner practically knocked his chair over, he got up so fast.

“I’ll be watching,” Liam repeated.

“Thanks, Daddy!” Nicole fairly skipped away, and Liam took a slow, deep breath.

“Good boy,” Posey said.

He grunted, then stood up to peer over the wall of the beer garden. “Great,” he said after a minute. “They’re holding hands.”

“How sweet,” Posey couldn’t resist saying.

He gave her a murderous look, then sighed. “By the way,” he said in a low voice, “I’d rather not have Nicole know we’re…hanging out.”

Hanging out. Horrible term, meaning absolutely nothing. “Of course not,” she said, looking away.

“So, what else happens this weekend?” Liam asked.

“There are tugboat races tomorrow,” Posey said. “Sunday.” As in Sunday. As in You free on Sunday?

“Cool.” Another few beats passed. Men. As perceptive as cement walls.

“Your mother’s definitely trying to fix me up with Greta,” he said, and Posey felt a nearly painful burst of love. He got Gretchen’s name wrong! So sweet!

“Well, Mom thinks the entire world should be married,” Posey said. Then, aware that her statement sounded leading, she added hastily, “But not everyone’s meant for…you know.”

There was another silence. “I think I’ll go wait for Nicole,” Liam said, standing. He looked down at her, almost as if seeing her for the first time today. “See you tomorrow? I could pick you up around noon.”

Posey couldn’t suppress a smile. “Sounds good.”

He leaned down, and for a second, she thought he might kiss her, right here in public, but he just stuck a few bills under a plate for the busboy. “You looked cute on the float today,” he said, and it was so unexpected that she was actually speechless. Then he smiled and left, and Posey sat there for a few long, delicious minutes, the glow in her chest nearly painful.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“HAVE FUN, SWEETHEART,” Liam said the next day, kissing Nicole’s forehead. “Thanks, Daddy!”

“Don’t go crazy with Grandma’s Amex, okay?”

“I won’t,” she said.

“This is a shopping spree, sweetheart. You can get whatever you want,” Louise said, giving Liam a cool look as she ran a hand over Nicole’s hair.

“Within reason, Nic.” He’d had to talk to her the last time there was a spree—they’d bought her a purse that cost eight hundred dollars.

“Darling, go out to the car, all right? Grandpa’s waiting. I have to ask your father something.” Nicole obeyed, regressing to age six and skipping down the hall. The elevator doors opened, and she blew him a kiss, which Liam caught. Baby Girl was happy today.

The second the elevator doors closed, Louise raised her chin, giving him the assessing, disapproving look he’d been getting since the first time he knocked on their door to take Emma to the movies. “Liam, George and I would like to talk to you about spending more time with our granddaughter.”

Liam felt a tightening in his gut. “Well, you do see her quite a bit already. Dinner once a week, Sundays, the occasional sleepover. Seems like a lot to me.”

“We’d like more. Every other weekend and at least once a week after school.”

“That’s…that’s not gonna happen, Louise. I mean, we love seeing you—” a lie “—but Nicole has a lot of school things going on. And she and I do things on the weekends, too, so we’ll just play it by ear, okay? But if something special comes up, you definitely talk to me.”

“She’s our only grandchild. Our only piece of Emma.”

It wasn’t a plea…it was an accusation, as if Liam had somehow caused Emma’s illness. And no matter how much they loved Nicole, Liam would always be the kid from the wrong side of the tracks who’d knocked up their princess. If there’d never been a Nicole—if Liam had simply been their late daughter’s husband—he doubted the Tates would have ever spoken to him again.

“I know that, Louise,” he said, as gently as he could. “And we moved back here to be closer to you.”

“We appreciate that, Liam. But we’d still like to have more time with her.”

He nodded. “Summer’s just around the corner. I’m sure Nicole would love to spend some time with you then.”

Her face tightened. “Also, we’d like to buy her a car for her birthday. A Mercedes. Excellent safety record.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?” she snapped. “Liam, you never let us give that child anything! We wanted to take her to London last year, and you said no to that as well.”

“You wanted to take her to London for a month. During the school year, Louise. As for the car, no. She won’t even have her license until next fall.”

“Fine. You’re the father.” She spit the word like it was a curse.

“Thank you,” he said, forcing his voice to be pleasant. “If you could have her back by eight, that’d be great. It’s a school night.” If he said eight, they might make it before ten.

“Fine,” she repeated in a tone that was anything but. Without saying goodbye, Louise turned and went down the hall.

Liam stood there, waiting till she was in the elevator, then stepped inside his apartment. Locked the door. Unlocked it. Locked it again. Then he went to the sink, slammed on the hot water and lathered up. Fifty-five seconds. It was never enough with the Tates. He’d moved across the continent and gave them pretty free access to their granddaughter, endured their crappy WASP dinners and veiled insults, but it would never be enough. And yet they were his backup plan for his child. Who wouldn’t be a child much longer.

Hands washed and dried. Door locked. Jaw still clenched.

What time had he told Cordelia he’d pick her up? Well, how about now? Would now work?

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into her driveway, feeling slightly better. Cordelia’s church stood alone, no neighbors, just a few thick stands of trees. Though the church could definitely use some work, it looked nice there in the sunshine, little purple flowers pushing through the earth in clumps. A nice place to live.

He knocked on the door, which opened almost immediately. The chef, what’s-her-name, stood there, barely clothed. “Well, hello there, Liam,” she said, sliding one hand up the doorframe.

“Hi,” he said. He heard a deep woof, and the giant dog appeared, galloping straight at him, nose aimed for Liam’s crotch, but the cousin grabbed his collar. The creature barked again, wagged its tail, knocking something to the ground, and offered an enormous paw. Some watchdog.

The cousin, meanwhile, looked like she was about to eat him alive. “So, how are you today?” she asked, giving him a slow once-over.

“Fine, thanks. Is Cordelia home?”

“She is. You guys are so cute,” she said. “Come on in.” She turned and walked inside. Liam followed, his eyes dropping automatically to check out her swaying ass, which was very nice, he had to admit, and outfitted for maximum attention—short shorts, even though it couldn’t have been more than fifty-five degrees outside. Or in here. Not the warmest place, this church. “So, Liam, I didn’t even know you guys were seeing each other, you naughty boy.”

“We’re friends,” he said.

“Friends with privileges?” she said suggestively, sweeping her hair off the back of her neck, then patting the couch. “Sit down, sit down, relax.”

He didn’t, though the white cat with the big head took her up on it. Liam looked around. He hadn’t seen a lot the other night, as Cordelia had practically dragged him up to her bed. Not that he was complaining. But there was lots of cool stuff here…an ornate, thronelike chair, a chandelier made of antlers, a statue of a scowling angel who looked ready to kick some sinful ass. “So, where is she?” he asked, feeling the cousin’s eyes still on him.

“Upstairs. When she told me—well, I’ll be honest, she was so cute and shy about it, you’d think it was her first date ever. Come to think of it, it might be. Anyway, I had to pry it out of her, because I thought that was you leaving our house the other day, and then when I saw you sitting together in the beer garden yesterday, I put two and two together.”

“Genius,” he said.

“Thanks,” she purred. “So at any rate, she still dresses like a tiny lumberjack, no clue, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, so I gave her a little help. Poor Posey.” She stretched hugely, arms over her head, arching her back. “You can thank me when you see her.”

Piece of work, the cousin.

“Posey! Your date’s here!” Also shockingly loud.

A door closed upstairs, and they heard footsteps. Tentative footsteps. Meanwhile, the cousin and dog both were eyeing Liam’s groin. Move it, Cordelia, Liam thought. One of these two is going to jump me any second.

She came into the room, and the dog burst into furious barking. Liam flinched. “Uh…hi,” he said after a moment.

“Hi.” She scowled. “Too much?”

At the sound of her voice, the dog fell into a confused silence, punctuated with whining. “Shilo, it’s me,” Cordelia said tightly. He growled, disbelieving, then barked again.

“You look so cute!” the cousin exclaimed, clapping her hands.

Cordelia did not look cute. She looked—well, crap, there was no other way to put it—like a kid who’d gotten into her mother’s stuff. That, or an underage prostitute. Her long, wispy eyelashes were coated with gunk, her eyelids smeared with purple. Hair was slicked down with some sort of product that made it look both greasy and stiff as the same time. Worst of all was her mouth, her beautiful, full lips smeared with oily red. If Liam tried to kiss that mouth, he’d slide right off. She wore an ill-fitting miniskirt and a shirt that was sheer (he had to give the cousin credit for something), revealing a black bra underneath. Tacky, but hot nonetheless. Just not…her. When Liam managed to look into her eyes, he saw that she was glaring at him.