“Considering who you married, yes.”
“I could have married any random woman and I would still feel this way because she wasn’t you.”
His words hit me smack in the middle of my chest, spreading the warmth of a sunrise after a seemingly endless night. “Ro, go to sleep.”
“Okay, but I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere.”
For the first time in my life, I knew that to be true. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the assurance Miles brought or because I could genuinely feel that he meant it, but I liked it.
The sound of the shower woke me the next morning. I turned over and scooted into the space Rowan had vacated. The pillow smelled like him. I closed my eyes and breathed it in, waiting for the water to stop and for him to get out of the bathroom so I could use it. When the water turned off, I rolled back to my side, heart pounding as I waited.
There was something about knowing that he was fewer than twenty feet away from me, soaking wet and naked, that made me feel a bit unhinged, too hot in my own skin.
When he finally opened the door, I was half-relieved, half-disappointed that he was completely dressed in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. His hair was clearly wet and brushed back away from his face. His beard, which was so much sexier than I thought a beard had any right to be, had obviously just been trimmed.
Maybe that was what scared me about the whole thing with Miles. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle Rowan coming into our lives and nitpicking at everything I’d built for my son. I got out of bed and grabbed my overnight bag on my way over to the bathroom. He moved out of the way slowly, as if his feet were dragging him in the opposite direction, but he really wanted to stay.
“I’m going to . . .” I started, pointing at the bathroom.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m going to get us breakfast. I’ll be right back.”
I darted into the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and leaned against it for a moment. I really needed to get a hold of myself in front of him, but after all of the things he said last night, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. It didn’t change the fact that I needed to finish setting up my presentations and figure out how to introduce him to Miles. Really introduce him to Miles, unlike the other day. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t asked about his dad. His teacher had sent out a letter about a Father’s Day breakfast the school was setting up and while I’d already enlisted Freddie with the task of going, I had to dodge questions from him about his real dad. Thankfully, he’d just started asking.
He’d only ever had me, so he didn’t think it was abnormal until he was forced into social settings with people who had both. The same went for grandparents and siblings and . . . hell, even pets. We took our cues from society in every aspect of our lives. I’d told Miles that not everyone had a father or mother or grandparents. It seemed to appease him, but only because Uncle Freddie was going to be there with him. It made me sad, not for him, but for so many kids out there who would be missing their father. It also made the guilt flare inside me because it was my fault that his wouldn’t be going. I dried myself and dressed quickly, picking everything up as I went.
When I opened the door to the bedroom, the smell of bacon hit me, and my stomach once again, growled, reminding me that I hadn’t been very good to it lately. I found Rowan in the kitchen, his back toward me as he flipped something in a pan.
“You’re cooking?” I sat in front of one of the settings on the counter. “This is new.”
The smile he flashed me over his shoulder made my pulse skitter. “Stick around, I’ll show you all my new tricks.”
“Hm.” Maybe I will, I added silently as I watched him fix two plates, setting one in front of me and the other beside me. He brought a mug and placed it in front of me next.
“You still take it black like your soul, right?”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “You still take yours as sweet as yours?”
He winked. “You know it.”
I couldn’t stop smiling as I ate. “This is really good.”
“At your service.”
“Miles would like the pancakes.”
He was silent for a beat before asking, “What’s his favorite food?”
“Depends. He’d probably say bacon.”
Rowan chuckled. “A boy after my own heart.”
“Yeah, hearts that bacon definitely doesn’t help.”
He kept chewing, but even after I looked away, I could feel his eyes on me. “What else does he like?”
“To eat?”
“Or do, or anything.”
“He’s obsessed with the sky,” I continued. “He loves constellations and rockets and the idea of being an astronaut. He also loves tools, so if you leave any out, you can be sure he’s going to take them and use them for something. He loves to read, ice cream, the park.” I shrugged. “Stuff like that.”
“How are you going to tell him about me?”
I was glad I’d finished eating and had put my fork down because otherwise I would’ve dropped it. “I don’t know.”
“But you are going to tell him.”
I swiveled in my seat and faced him, brought my hand up to his face, and looked into those concerned blue eyes. “I’m going to tell him.”
He kissed me when we said goodbye. It wasn’t a long-lasting kiss, just a peck, but my lips were still warm from it. We drove back in separate cars. When I got home, I went straight to my bedroom and started unpacking. I’d dressed in what I called business-chic this morning, which was really just dark jeans, a plain button-down blouse, and flats, and then I headed into the office. The entire way, I moved on autopilot, too consumed with what I would tell Miles to pay much attention.
I’d given him my new phone number and saved his. I was specific in that he should only call me for things pertaining to Miles. Yes, the hopeless romantic in me wanted to get lost in the idea of love again, but I was also very aware that the last time I felt this way about this man, it ended in heartache. I’d definitely be careful this time, but I wasn’t going to rule anything out. One thing I learned in the aftermath of our love was that my heart can crack, break into a million pieces, and shatter like glass, but it kept beating. In my case, it definitely kept beating, for Miles, for myself.
By the time I arrived at the office, I felt refreshed. As Seth, Tommy, Chloe, and I sat in the conference room waiting for Ryan Ford to join us, we all buzzed in anticipation. We rehearsed our presentation, presented it to Ryan. Once he gave us the thumbs-up, we called the car company and video chatted the presentation to them about our rocket concept car for Fashion Week. Then we called the boutique hotel and pitched our ideas. The whole time I gave the presentation and showed him our conceptual design, I wished I could turn around and look at Ryan’s face. The man I was talking to looked so much like him, with the same dark brown eyes and dark hair, they even had the same little cleft on their chins. The man, Brody Ford, looked too much like Ryan to be anything other than family.
When we were finished, Brody smiled and thanked us. His attention seemed to be behind me, though, where Ryan sat. I moved out of the way and looked over there.
“What do you think?” Ryan asked.
“I think you’re a son of a bitch and I’m going to have to pick you,” Brody replied. “But you already knew this.”
“I’ll tell Donovan,” Ryan said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Don’t you dare,” Brody warned. “Thank you for everything. You captured everything we’re looking for. I’ll expect the contract so we can start right away.”
And then the video cut. We all looked at each other, stunned into complete silence.
I spoke first.
“He’s your brother.”
“What gave it away?”
“Why did we jump through hoops for this if you knew you were going to end up with the contract anyway?” I asked.
“I didn’t know we’d end up with the contract,” he said simply. “Just because he’s my brother doesn’t mean I
dictate his decisions.”
There was another stretch of silence and then Seth clapped his hands and stood.
“I’m excited about this. I’m going to talk to the furniture company first and then call the car people to see when we can get the seats down here to start on that.”
I nodded. “I’ll finish with the fabrics that we picked for the hotel. I’m thinking maybe we can upholster the walls in a pretty ivory. Maybe add buttons for texture.”
“Like a backboard?” Chloe asked, jotting it all down on her clipboard.
“Yeah, sort of like that.”
Ryan stood. “I like where all of this is going. Tessa, a word?”
“Sure.”
I followed him out of the conference room and into the hall, where he stopped and turned to me.
“What’s going on with the fabrics?”
“I narrowed down the hotel fabrics for the lobby,” I said, because that had been the easy part. “I have ideas for the lounge area as well and now that we got the job, I think it should be easy to figure out the rest of the layouts.”
“Right. What about the leather for the car seats?”
“That . . . well, Rowan Hawthorne seems to think he has the perfect leather for it, as well as other colorful fabrics, but they’re owned by another company.”
“Tell him to get them.”
“That’s the problem.” I glanced away, hoping to hide the cringe I felt coming on. “The lady won’t sell to a man-owned and operated company.”
Ryan looked at me like I was growing tentacles. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. She won’t sell Rowan her fabrics.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He frowned. “She’s losing business. All textiles companies are owned by men.”
“Not true, actually,” I said.
“Well, most of them are.”
“Well, the one that seems to matter in this conversation is not only owned by a woman but also owned by a woman who doesn’t want to work with men.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you speak to her? You’re a woman and the director of your department. That has to count for something.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I moved to walk back into the conference room.
“I want to see this fabric,” Ryan said as he walked into his office. “Have it on my desk by Monday. I know this is your project, but all of our reputations are riding on this. If it doesn’t live up to the hype, we’re moving on.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Rowan
Unlike the previous times I’d been there, the main door to Tessa’s building was unlocked and I was able to walk right in. Also, unlike previous times, there was no Freddie or Celia in sight as I stood outside of Tessa’s door, knocking for the third time. I hadn’t told her I was coming over, though, in my defense, I’d called and texted, but she hadn’t responded. I lifted my hand one more time with the intention of knocking a little louder when the door swung open. Tessa was on the other side of it, wearing the shortest blue shirt I’d ever seen—she may as well have been wearing a bra—and gray sweats that hung low on her hips. All Yale. All sexy. All mine. Nothing made my blood boil like the sight of her. She pushed her hair, which was wet, out of her face and looked at me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Mommyyyyyyyyy,” a little voice called out.
“Sorry. It’s bedtime.” She blew out a long breath and turned around, leaving me standing in the doorway. I took the opportunity and stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind me. Miles ran around the corner and came to a dead stop when he saw me. He was wearing Beast pajamas from Beauty and the Beast, his blue eyes wide on mine. His dark hair was perfectly brushed to the side.
“I said in a minute, Miles,” Tessa said, walking over to him. He lifted his arms as she lowered hers to pick him up. It was all done on autopilot, the way you perform secondary things like tying your shoes.
“You took too long.” He wrapped his arms around her and continued to look at me over her shoulder.
I’d never seen a toddler glare, but I was pretty sure that was what he was doing. I fought a laugh as they went into what I assumed was his room. I didn’t follow, not because I didn’t want to but because it was obvious that I was interrupting some sort of ritual they had and he wasn’t happy about it.
While I waited, I took my phone out and googled the best way to introduce yourself to your girlfriend’s child. It wasn’t exactly what I was doing, but I couldn’t even think of a way to phrase the reality of this situation. The first link took me to a message board where the women talked about dating after a divorce. Each response made me a little more baffled and upset than the last. Most of them seemed to be happily dating, not even a mention of the ex-husband in the picture. I hated it. I reminded myself once again that this wasn’t an ordinary case and kept scrolling.
“You can come back,” Tessa called out.
I put my phone away and the pressure in my chest seemed to lessen as I followed the sound of her voice. I stopped at the door and looked around. There were scattered toys on the floor, the walls were blue and had silver constellations and stars painted on them. The windowsill had an outline of a rocket surrounding it. Even the bed looked like a spacecraft. On the left of it was a small bookshelf, a desk, and a dresser with a basket of clothes on it. Tessa covered Miles, who still had his eyes on me, and walked over to the bookshelf.
“What book do we want today?” she asked.
“Giving Tree.”
She sighed. “Really?”
He nodded, a little smile on his face as he looked at her back. Even in my limited experience with things like these, I could feel the love he felt for his mother. It was pure and wholesome and impossible to escape. It was in the way he watched her and in the way he looked at me as if he didn’t want me anywhere near her. Tessa took the book from the shelf and flipped to the first page as she sat on a child-sized blue couch beside his bed. I leaned against the doorframe and listened to her as she read the story to him. He turned over on his side so he could look at the pictures, smiling every time she read something in a different voice. Everything about her enthralled me. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear each time it fell in front of the pages. The way she made her voice loud or soft, depending on what character was speaking. The way she glanced up and touched his hair every so often once she turned the page. I had never deserved this woman. Not when we were kids, not when we were teenagers, not four years ago, and certainly not now. I’d never done anything to deserve her attention or her love, yet, she gave it to me continuously without asking for anything in return.
She’d given me a son and not asked for anything in exchange. Seeing her with him, the life she’d created for him without my help, made me realize she’d never needed me. She’d spent so much of her life worrying about being held back because she needed a man in her life, and she’d proven time and time again that she didn’t. It was refreshing to see and I never would have thought that before this moment. Maybe it was because my mother always needed my father and I had hated that for her. It was the reason the affair and the divorce had been so hard on her. She’d told me as much recently. Even Camryn, with all her traveling and doing what she wanted always revolved everything around a man, whether it be me, Wall Street guy, to the random guy she picked up.
Standing there, I acknowledged more than just how the women in my life depended on me. I admitted, if only to myself, that how I felt watching Tessa and Miles must have been how my father felt about Mariah and the son they had together. That how I felt about Camryn was how my father felt about my mother. Sure, circumstances were different. I wasn’t him. I understood that. It didn’t change the fact that on paper our situations were eerily similar.
By the time she finished reading the book, I could hear the tears in her voice. It was a damn powerful story. She closed it, wiped her face, and kissed Miles on the forehead, her fingers running through his hair softly.<
br />
“I love you.”
“I love you, Mommy.”
With that, she flicked on the nightlight, which shot a reflection of stars up on the ceiling, grabbed the basket of clothes, and shooed me out. I took a few steps back, my eyes riveted to her every movement as she joined me. Raw emotions rioted inside me, reminding me of all of the things I didn’t even know I wanted until just the other day. Except Tessa. I’d always wanted her, but this life? This settled down, familiar life? When had I ever dreamed of that? Never. Not until I knew the possibility was real and damn it, I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything. I followed her to the living room, where she dumped the basket on a couch and began to sort out clothes and fold them. I could feel her exhaustion even from where I stood, so instead of sitting on the opposite couch, I sat beside her on the center ottoman and joined her. Her hands stopped moving, her gaze jumping to mine.
“Let me do this,” I said. She scanned my face, seemingly looking for some unknown reason as to why I’d want to fold Miles’s clothes. Truth was, I hated folding clothes, but having my son’s clothes in my hands made me feel closer to him even though he had no idea what I was to him. After a moment, she let go of the shirt in her hands and let me take over.
“You’re so good with him,” I said, my voice a hoarse whisper. I glanced up at her. “I’m in awe of you.”
She looked stricken for a beat before she cleared her throat. “Thanks. Do you want something to drink? Wine? Hot chocolate? Beer? Water? Passion fruit juice?”
“Wine will do.” I felt myself smile. She stood and walked over to the kitchen. I continued folding clothes. There were two soccer uniforms, one baseball uniform, a lot of NASA related apparel, one Yankees T-shirt, one Mets T-shirt, one Cubs T-shirt. I stopped folding. Was she letting my kid root for all of these teams? I looked up as she approached and took the glass of wine from her hand.
“Are you letting him root for three different baseball teams?”
My Way Back to You: New York Times Bestselling Author Page 12
