I push my back from the fridge and finish the tea, handing one to Molly. “I was drunk. Stupid. I’m really in no position to get involved with a man.”
Molly gives me a small, understanding smile, probably remembering our conversation in the pub last night. She reaches for my hand and squeezes. “But a great rebound screw, yeah?”
I laugh a little. I suppose I could see it like that. A rebound screw that’s come years too late. “Yeah.”
“I better get back.” Molly takes a few sips of her tea before swilling her mug and setting it on the drainer.
“Sorry it was a wasted sprint,” I quip lightly, and she laughs, going back through to the store and collecting her bag.
She looks back at me, her grin poorly hidden. “I have a feeling this isn’t the end of you and Ryan.”
“Trust me, it’s the end.”
“If you say so.” She waltzes out and I follow, standing on the street, pondering what to do with the rest of my day. I see Mrs. Hatt head into the store and Father Fitzroy wandering down the high street. I smile as I watch him, now familiar with his daily routine. It’s one thirty. Time for his lunchtime pint of ale.
“Mind your feet.” A broom hits my ankles, and I jump out of the way of Cyrus as he sweeps past me.
“Afternoon,” I say, dipping and collecting a candy wrapper that he’s missed. I drop it in the bin on his cart and dust my hands off. “Ever thought about getting into painting, Cyrus?”
“And why would I do that?”
“Something different.”
“I like what I like. Have done for years. Not much call for change around these parts.” He slips his broom into the cart and pushes it into the road. “Good day to you, miss.”
“Good day, Cy—” My goodbye is cut short when I see a truck at the top of the high street. Ryan’s truck. Heading this way. “Shit.” I dive into my store and slam the door, quickly locking it and running out the back. It’s only when I’m on my way up the stairs to my apartment that I wonder what on earth I’m doing. Avoiding him? That’s assuming I was his intended destination, and why would I be? Surely he’s avoiding me.
I go to the window and look past the curtain, seeing him pull into one of the bays outside the store. Alex jumps out first and runs into Mrs. Heaven’s café, and then Ryan appears. My face bunches in disgust. Just look at him, all outdoorsy and hot as sin in his ripped jeans and shirt. Wait, I recognize that shirt. It’s the one he wrestled me into this morning and buttoned up all wrong. Why’s he wearing that shirt in particular?
He wanders around the front of his truck, heading in the direction of the café, following his daughter. Then he stops and looks down the street toward my store. My heart begins to pound, getting faster every second he remains a statue, staring this way, until he continues on to the café and I start breathing again. But then he slows to a stop, reverses his steps, and turns, stalking down the street. I can’t see his expression, but his pace tells me he’s determined. Determined to do what?
He reaches the shop door and tugs on the handle a few times before stepping back and looking up, and I quickly dive away from the window, my stupid heart back to pounding, my stomach performing cartwheels. I hear him trying the door again.
“I’m closed,” I mumble, inching forward a little and craning my neck to see him. He’s just standing there, staring at the shop front. “Go away,” I order quietly, and as if he has heard me, he starts up the street again, looking back a few times as he goes.
I deflate and take a seat on the couch. And now what will I do with myself?
Chapter Fourteen
RYAN
She’s avoiding me. It’s now Saturday, and it’s been nearly three days since I saw her. I’ve been to her store every day twice a day and each time it’s been closed. I asked Molly when I saw her in the café yesterday if she’d seen Hannah, and all I got was a shake of her head before she scuttled off with her blueberry muffin. I didn’t believe her. Everything about her behavior was shifty.
What’s going on?
Has Hannah had a change of heart? Has she decided a man with a kid isn’t for her? Or is she truly going to let her trust issues get in the way? I don’t know, but I can’t stop thinking about her. Every second of every damn day, she’s on my mind.
Alex and I have been busy; I’ve made sure of it, but it hasn’t helped. We’ve nearly finished the bridge; all that’s left to be done is paint it, and we’ve also fixed Hannah’s bike. I listened to Alex rattle on the whole time about Hannah and how cool she is, and all I could do was offer the odd hum or one-word answer. Hearing my girl sing Hannah’s praises at every opportunity only cemented my previous worry. It isn’t just my heart on the line here, and given Hannah’s apparent flightiness, it’s probably a good thing it ended when it did, not that I knew it had ended. I’m a big boy. I can take rejection. But I can’t expose Alex to it.
My girl smacks the hammer on the head of the final nail in our bridge and stands back, admiring our work. “We should go to Hannah’s to get the paint.”
“What?” I look up from my toolbox.
“The paint,” she says again. “For our bridge.” She tosses the hammer into the toolbox before me. “We should go to Hannah’s to get it.”
I slam the toolbox shut and stand. “Mr. Chaps sells paint.”
“Only boring white. I want it to be colorful and bright.” Alex follows me as I trek back through the woods to the cabin. “We’ll get the paint from Hannah.”
I throw my toolbox on the back of my truck and wipe my hands down with an old rag. Alex has found her way to Hannah’s bike by the shed and is inspecting our handiwork. It’s as good as new. I’m sure Hannah will be pleased, not that I plan on finding out. I’ll let Alex deliver it back to her just as soon as I’ve attached that silly bell that Alex insisted we buy.
“I’ll get the base-coat paint from Mr. Chaps, you can get the colorful paint from Hannah.” If her store is even open. “Come on, we’ve got to get to Grange to have my truck sorted.”
I jump in and start the engine as Alex skips over, her jeans dragging the floor. They’re all frayed, they have oil stains everywhere, and you can’t see her Vans they’re so baggy. “You should wear those to the beauty pageant,” I say when she’s hopped in. “Guaranteed winner.”
She snorts and drags her belt on. “Are you going to laugh at me?” she asks, pulling off her baseball cap and putting it back on back-to-front.
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” Winding down the window, she rests her elbow out and kicks her Vans up onto the dashboard. “Can you bring a paper bag for my head?”
“You being in the pageant makes your mother happy.”
“Nothing makes Mother happy,” she muses quietly, gazing into the woods as we roll down the track.
Where did that come from? I glance across to her, flicking my elbow out to nudge her. “Cabbage?”
“She’s crying a lot lately.” She shrugs. “Grandmother said it’s because she’s depressed or something.”
“What’s your mother got to be depressed about?”
My daughter’s mouth twists, and she looks away, avoiding my eyes.
“Hey.” I pull the truck to a stop and turn in to her. “Talk to me.”
“Promise you won’t say anything,” she orders.
I give her my little finger and she hooks it with hers. “Pinkie promise,” I say, squeezing. “Now what’s up?”
“Casper wants a divorce. I heard them arguing.”
Whoa. I wasn’t expecting that. “Why?” That’s the stupidest question a man’s ever asked. Darcy Hampton is insufferable—a self-important, spoiled brat of a woman. She’s scheming, manipulative, sly. And Casper’s not my favorite person in the world, granted, but he’s always treated Alex like his own, and past my irritation and annoyance, I know that’s something I should be grateful for. But he’s still not her dad.
“Something about growing apart,” Cabbage says, waving a hand in feigned indifference
. “That’s what Casper said, anyway. I guess that’s life. You love someone, they love you back, and then one of you decides that, actually, you don’t love the other person. And one person leaves. You know, you’re better off single, Dad. I’m never having a boyfriend or a husband.” She looks across to me. “I’m glad it’s just me and you.”
Baseball bat, say hello to my stomach.
I return forward and stare at the steering wheel, my cheeks blowing out. “I’m glad, too,” I reply quietly, putting my truck into gear and pulling off.
Fuck me.
* * *
Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again” blares from the speakers on our way to Grange, Alex and I jigging in our seats. She sings at the top of her voice, slapping the side of the truck out the window as we speed through the countryside. Her head starts jerking in time to the beats—my little headbanger—and I laugh, her hair whipping around her face as the breeze gushes through the cab. “Dun-dun-dun!”
I join in, cranking up the volume even more as I smack the steering wheel.
“Woohooo!” Alex laughs, stamping her feet repeatedly on the dashboard.
“This was one of my mum’s favorites,” I tell her. “Every Sunday morning on repeat while she vacuumed.”
She chuckles, reaching forward and turning the volume down. “I wish I could have met her. She sounds so cool.”
I smile sadly. I lost my mum just ten minutes after I won shared custody of Alex. She didn’t even get to meet my daughter, and that is something I will never forgive Darcy for. My mum would have loved my girl. And my girl was the only reason I survived my mother’s death. Had I not had Alex to take care of, I don’t know what I would’ve done. “I wish that, too,” I say, smiling across at her.
“It’s been a while since we visited. We should get some flowers for her grave when we get home.”
“Good plan.” I pull up to a roundabout, indicating left for the main street in Grange. Something catches my eye across the street, and I squint, trying to zoom in. What the…?
“Dad!”
I jump and slam my foot on the brake, just stopping in time for the red light. “Shit,” I breathe, immediately scanning the other side of the road again. I thought I saw…
“God, Dad, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Hey!” I scorn her, reaching across and slapping her leg. “Don’t let me hear you talk like that.”
“Hey, is that Hannah?”
I follow Alex’s pointed finger, finding Hannah up ahead getting in a taxi. “Looks like it,” I muse quietly.
“What’s she doing in Grange?”
I pull away when the light turns green, forcing nonchalance. “Beats me.” I peek up at my rearview mirror, seeing the cab pull out and take a right. But really, what is she doing in Grange? And why do I care?
* * *
I don’t know what it is with Alex lately, disappearing on me constantly. She was supposed to be getting flowers from Mr. Chaps’s store, while I got something for dinner. I stalk up and down the aisles with my basket full of stuff, scanning the space, and with each aisle that turns up no results, my dread multiplies. I have a horrible feeling I know exactly where she is.
I grab a few bunches of white roses—Mum’s favorite—and slam my basket on the counter at the checkout, ignoring Brianna’s starry eyes as she scans my things. “Did you see Alex leave?” I ask her.
“Yes, she went toward the post office.”
The post office, which is just past Hannah’s store. “Great,” I say to myself, tossing a few notes on the counter and claiming my bags. “Keep the change.”
I stomp out and dump the shopping in the back of my freshly repaired truck, then throw myself in the driver’s seat, my eyes laser beams trained on the front of Hannah’s store. Ten minutes pass. No Alex. My muscles become more tense by the minute, until I’m forced to remove myself from my truck before a cramp sets in. I walk up and down, constantly looking up to Hannah’s store. “For fuck’s sake,” I snap at no one, striding down the street. What’s the problem, anyway? Hannah’s the one who’s been avoiding me. Maybe now I can get the explanation I deserve. Or perhaps an apology. Not that any of it will make a difference. I’m over it, and Alex’s words earlier have only confirmed that it’s a good thing.
My heart does some weird galloping shit the closer I get to the cute little arts-and-crafts store. Stupid heart. I reach the door and butterflies join my thumping heartbeats. Stupid butterflies. I open the door and smell her immediately. Stupid raspberries. Then I see her and my whole damn world turns inside out and upside down. Stupid fucking world.
She’s sitting at an easel, swishing a brush loaded with paint from side to side. And she’s wearing the dungarees she had on the night I met her. Her hair is piled high, wisps falling here, there, and everywhere around the huge red scarf tied in a bow on her head. The legs of her dungarees are rolled up messily, she’s in a sleeveless T-shirt, revealing her shoulders, and her feet are adorned in a pair of red Birkenstocks.
She is perfectly Hannah.
“One second,” she says, the sound muffled. I register the brush in her mouth as she gets up close to the canvas and dots the brush that’s in her hand from one side to the other. Then she leans back. Inspects her work. Nods to herself. Looks at me.
And life as I know it ends here. Her eyes widen in surprise, and definitely panic, and she quickly shoves her palette of paints to the side, taking the spare brush from between her teeth. “Hi,” she says, pushing up off the stool.
“Hi,” I reply, lifting a pathetic hand. And then we stare at each other, the silence unbearably difficult. I’ve slept with this woman. Had the most amazing night with this woman. And now…
Hannah decides to break the awkward silence, which is a good job as I have no idea what to say now that I’m here. “Did you want something?”
Yes, take your clothes off and let me go to paradise again. “No, nothing.” I stuff my hands in my pockets. “Actually yes, I came to get my daughter.”
A few creases stretch across Hannah’s forehead, and I notice a blob of paint above her eyebrow. I should wipe it off. And the bit on her arm. And the splash on her neck.
“Your daughter isn’t here,” she says tiredly.
“Oh.” Great. So not only do I look like I’ve made an excuse to venture in here, I also look like a terrible father. Where the hell is she, the little sod?
And as if by magic, Alex prances into the store, all smiley. “There you are,” she sings. “What have I told you about wandering off?”
I hear Hannah start chuckling, and although the sound is orgasm inducing, I still growl at my wayward daughter. “We’ve got to go.” I pace to her, turning her straight around and directing her out of the store, letting the door slam behind me.
“Hey, I need to get the paint for the bridge.” She struggles in my hold as I march her down the street, but I don’t let her win, pushing her onward, having a mental row with myself.
I could have handled that so much better. And what was with that god-awful atmosphere? I had Hannah in my bed only a few days ago. Said things I’ve never said to anyone in my life. Thought things I didn’t know I would ever think.
“Fuck it,” I spit, releasing Alex and turning back toward the store. “Get in the truck,” I shout over my shoulder, just catching her stunned expression. Good. Let her think I’m mad at her. It’ll keep her away while I say what I’ve got to say to Hannah.
I push my way into the shop and slam the door harder than I mean to. “Just for the record, the other night was amazing.” I point a finger at Hannah, and she recoils, her already stunned face stunned further. “I don’t know why you’ve been avoiding me, but I think it fucking sucks.”
“Are you for real?” she asks, her delicate jaw ticking wildly. “You shoved me out of your cabin so fast, I’m lucky I don’t have fucking bruises!”
My hand drops limply, and I retreat, pointing to the door behind me. “Alex,” is all I manage to splutter, as if that’s
a perfectly reasonable explanation. But apparently it’s not, judging by the fire that springs into Hannah’s glare.
“Oh, I know. She can’t ever see me.” Turning away, she starts to tidy things up, slamming things here, tossing things there. “That’s fine, but you’ll have to find someone else to busy yourself with when your daughter’s not around. I’m checking out.” She swings around. “Now get out.”
Fuck me. She really does turn me on when she’s mad. “No,” I spit back petulantly.
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Fucking yes!”
“Fucking no!” I roar, making the shop shake. “I didn’t fucking say ever, Hannah. Just not that morning when we were bollock naked and had just orgasmed in my damn shower.”
Her mouth snaps shut and she moves back, breathless from her outburst. “What?”
Oh my God, has she completely misread everything? I take my palm to my head and rub, squeezing my eyes closed. Has this just been one huge misunderstanding? “Listen,” I breathe. “I know I didn’t handle it particularly well, but amid my panic, I did conclude one thing.”
“What?”
“I do want my daughter to meet you, but not like that.”
“You mean naked?”
“Yes, that, and still flushed from the amazing sex we just had.” And the flush appears, her hands joining and fiddling in front of her. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” I ask. “You thought I kicked you out because that night didn’t mean anything to me?” I step forward, frustrated not only with Hannah for even thinking I would do that to her, but with myself for giving her reason to. I’ve been in fucking turmoil the past few days, second-guessing everything, talking myself around in circles.
“Well, yeah.” She looks away from me. I don’t like it.
“Hannah?”
“But maybe it was for the best, anyway,” she says, refusing to look at me.
My stomach turns. “What?”
She swallows, and something tells me it’s because she’s trying to force words past the lump there. “It couldn’t work between us.” She turns to walk away.
Leave Me Breathless Page 16
