“I know you come from a long line of extremely stubborn men, so I’m not going to argue. Thank you,” she said, placing the bills in her wallet. “Good-bye, Chris, I’ll be back soon,” she called out, not making eye contact with Evan.
“Bye, Mom!”
“We’ll be fine,” Evan said opening the door for her. She gave him a tiny nod and walked out. Evan let out a deep breath. He headed back into the kitchen as Christopher stood from the table.
“Okay, so ready to show me around your room?” Christopher nodded and tore past him, down the hallway. Evan chuckled, happy that he seemed to be doing so much better than last night.
He followed Christopher and stood on the threshold and stopped breathing as the room, in the light of day was fully visible. He hadn’t seen any of this last night. And it was so obvious, standing here, on the edge of what had to be something almost magical, that Christopher was her entire world.
Each wall was adorned with a different mural. All brilliant, vivid colors. There was a wall with trains, one with dinosaurs, one with jungle animals, and one with superheroes. It was a stark contrast to the scarcity of rest of the apartment. This room was filled to the brim. There was a Thomas the Tank Engine table with train tracks and at least a dozen brightly colored miniature trains. Blue-and-white-striped buckets lined one wall, and they were stuffed with cars and dinosaur figurines. A blue bookcase lined another wall, packed with board books and an array of photographs. Under the large window, there was a small bench, and Evan’s heart constricted when he saw the small plastic insect containers. He’d had those as a child. He’d loved catching caterpillars and spiders.
He walked over to the bed and gingerly sat on the edge while Christopher yanked some toys from the boxes. He ran his hands over the quilted Spider-Man pillowcases. His throat ached, and he found it hard to breathe. He’d never been so blown away by a woman. Every time he thought he’d figured her out, there were more layers. More depth.
It was obvious that whatever extra money Grace had earned went to her son. The rest of the apartment was spartan.
“Your room is really cool, Chris,” Evan said. Christopher stood up with a handful of trains and nodded.
“Thanks. My mom did all this for me. I still remember when she painted it all. I was little, like three. It took her months. And she’d even let me paint some, even though I wasn’t really good at painting back then,” he said smiling.
Evan loved the sound of his voice, the expressions that played across his face as he spoke about Grace. But why? Why did this kid’s nonstop talking not irritate him?
“Do you want to play trains? I know they’re kind of babyish now, like none of my friends at school still play with this stuff, but I know my mom spent a lot of money on this. She gets me stuff. Even if we’re going out for something she needs, she’ll get me stuff instead. I feel kind of bad sometimes, but she says that’s what moms are for. Do you like her?”
Evan felt as though someone had just punched him in the gut. Grace’s son was a running fountain of information, and he switched topics of conversation faster than Evan could keep up with. Evan cleared his throat, attempting to find his voice again. Did he want a dad? Was this a four-year-old’s attempt at setting up his mother?
“Yes, I do like your mother,” he said gruffly. Christopher let out a big sigh and flopped down on the bed beside him, trains tumbling around him.
“She’s a nice lady. And she works really hard. And she’s an artist you know? She’s got this whole other room that I’m not allowed to go into unless she’s there. But she’s really good at it. And she loves me more than anything. Remember the accident?”
He nodded, not saying a word.
“She stayed with me in the hospital, and I was there for almost two months. She got me treats, and she slept in my room every night. Do you need a nice lady in your life, Dr. Nevan?”
This kid was killing him. It was like he was taking a dull knife to his heart and carving it. Do you need a nice lady in your life, Dr. Nevan? He ran his hands through his hair roughly. “I hadn’t really thought about it, Chris.”
The little boy frowned. “Oh, well when you do think about it, you should think about my mom.”
Chris had the makings of a fine salesman. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. But, we should probably start playing.” He picked up a red train. “Your mom is pretty cool,” Evan forced from his throat.
Christopher beamed at him. “We’re going to have a great time today.”
…
Hours later, Evan was sprawled on his back on Christopher’s floor. Chris hadn’t stopped talking for more than two minutes, and that was only because he’d needed a washroom break. But then he would say something incredibly clever, and Evan would find himself so damn proud of him. And he had a funny sense of humor, too. He was cheerful and full of energy.
Evan finished reading the last line of the spider book Christopher had selected and looked over at him. He was sleeping, sprawled out on his bed, one arm flung over his dinosaur and the other on Evan’s leg. Evan slowly placed his hand on the bed and tucked him so he was snug under his Spider-Man sheets. Grace had checked in when she came home from grocery shopping, but Christopher had begged for more time with Evan. Of course he’d agreed, and Grace said she’d use that time to cook. And Evan had sent a quick text to Quinn checking on Holly, and sure enough, she was just fine and not having any more contractions.
Evan quietly closed the door behind him, giving Chris one last glance before he went in search of Grace.
He walked down the short corridor and swung open the door to the small studio, thinking she was in there. He walked in and stood in the center of the room and slowly turned around, his mouth dropping open as he stared at hundreds of paintings, sketches, drawings.
He walked over to the lone sketching table, frowning slightly as one caught his attention. Evan stilled as he spotted a leather portfolio with Christopher’s name scrawled across the front in Grace’s handwriting. He gingerly flipped the book open, and emotion slammed him in the gut. It was a sketch of a man with an infant. The man was bare-chested, cradling his son against his body.
The man had no face. And he refused to acknowledge the thoughts crawling through his mind about who that man should be. Or who he wanted that man to be.
His hand shook as he flipped the sketch over to look at the next one. There were more of the same, of Christopher as he grew. He saw him through the various stages of infancy, and in all of them, the faceless man was holding him. There was adoration in Christopher’s eyes as he looked at the man that would be his father with a pure, undiluted love that made the hair on the back of Evan’s neck slowly stand. He continued to flip through the pages, unable to look away, wanting more. There was one of Christopher holding the man’s hand, standing at the water’s edge tossing in rocks. Grace had sketched all of these. And they were all this faceless man, as though he’d actually been there and lived these moments.
This is what Grace wanted for her son. She wanted him to have a father. He kept flipping through the book, unable to stop. There were a series of sketches with Christopher and an older woman; Grace’s mother. Evan knew she had never met her grandson. He took a deep breath, frowning at how ragged it was. Like there was something in his chest, and he knew it had nothing to do with his lungs.
He was holding in his hands everything he’d been running from his entire life. Emotion, love, vulnerability. Grace epitomized all those things. She had a depth to her that scared the shit out of him. He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his shoulders, attempting to downplay the memories of the accident that night. Now they weren’t just strangers. Holly’s mantra, the “everything happens for a reason” line that she dished out for every major and not so major event that happened in any of their lives, gripped him. Hell, but if that didn’t make him wonder. It had been him that night that pulled them out of the car. And if he hadn’t…none of them would be here, together.
He couldn’t remain indiffer
ent. Being with Grace meant being real. And nothing about their arrangement was supposed to be real. Christopher wasn’t supposed to get attached to him. But hell, he hadn’t counted on the fact that he might become attached to Chris. And Grace…she was supposed to be his pretend wife. But he wanted her. For real.
“Evan?”
Grace’s soft voice yanked him from his thoughts, and he turned around. She stood in the doorway, and the woman he’d thought beautiful the first time he met her was now a goddess. Her work, her passion, her dreams were poured into these paintings and sketches. She was brilliant. And he was so damn proud of her. And in awe of her. Because Grace, coming from a home with so little, had accomplished so much more than him in many ways. He didn’t say a word as he battled with his conscience. He wanted her. “I didn’t mean to invade your space. And I’ve never been into art, but even an idiot would know that your work is amazing. You’re amazing.”
Grace’s gorgeous mouth dropped open. And he wanted to tell her how amazing she was, every day. But he knew that wouldn’t happen. So he could settle for now. Today. He’d show her. With words, with his lips, his tongue, he’d show her all the ways in which he thought she was amazing.
Evan took the room in two strides, shut the door with one hand, and slipped the other into her hair. He caught her gasp with his mouth. He had the inexplicable need to taste the emotion, the woman who made him want to forget all about his goals, his priorities, his promises. He wanted Grace, in bed, out of bed, and in his mind.
He backed her up against the door, and she pressed her body against his, making the sexy sounds she’d made last night. His hands wandered down the soft curves of her body and then reached down to cup her sweet ass, lifting her until she wrapped her legs around him like she’d never let go.
“Where’s Chris?” she whispered against his neck.
“Asleep.”
“I’m not sleeping!” They both froze at the sound of Christopher’s voice. Panic shot through him until he realized the voice was coming from the other side of the door. He slowly helped Grace stand.
“Nevan I told you not to go in my mom’s art room! She doesn’t like people touching her stuff!”
Grace slapped her hands over her mouth, and she almost doubled over laughing.
“Would it be really wrong if I swore quietly?” Evan asked.
Grace managed a smile. “Life with a kid.”
“Hey, I thought we were eating soup!” Christopher yelled from the other side of the door.
Right. Life with kids. Something he’d never, ever contemplated.
Minutes later, the three of them were seated around the table, eating the best damn soup Evan had ever tried. Chris had already inhaled his second bowl and was now peering out the kitchen window.
Evan leaned close to Grace. “So I guess it would be really crass if I wondered whether any of those chickens you rescued are now in this soup?”
Grace choked on the spoonful she’d just put in her mouth and then punched him in the arm.
“I hope we get a thunderstorm,” Chris said, looking up at the window, rain pouring outside.
“You like thunder?” Evan asked, spooning another mouthful in.
“Love it. And lightning, too,” he said, completely missing his mouth as a crash of thunder startled him.
They all laughed, and Grace wiped the soup spill with her napkin. “After you finish, Chris, I want you to get ready for bed, okay?”
“Aww. Do I have to?”
She nodded. “We’re having a late dinner. And you’re still sick even though you’re feeling better, okay? Tomorrow morning we need to get an early start.”
“Your mom’s right. How about I read you a story before bed?” Evan asked, without even thinking twice. It seemed natural. Especially when Chris’s face lit up and he grinned at him.
“Deal, Nevan,” he said, wiping his mouth and running out of the room.
“Call me when you’re done,” Evan called after him. He looked over at Grace, who was idly pushing her spoon around in the bowl.
“You okay?” he asked leaning forward.
She lifted her green eyes to his. “It occurred to me that you know almost everything about me now, and I still don’t feel like you’ve told me anything about yourself.”
…
Grace finished the last of the dishes and wiped her hands on the dish towel, staring vacantly ahead as the rain trickled down the windowpane.
“I was going to offer to help clean up,” Evan said, walking into the room. She spun around, surprised that he’d come in without her even hearing him.
“That’s okay. You tucking in and reading Chris a story is help,” she said, attempting a smile. But it was hard to smile casually. She had revealed so much of herself last night to Evan but he hadn’t done the same. Every time she spoke of family he didn’t respond. And then out of nowhere, the letterhead from Medcorp appeared in her mind. There was so much about him she didn’t know.
But the little things she did know—the tenderness she saw when he was with Chris, in the faint lines around his blue eyes as he smiled at her son, the way it softened his features, the richness in his deep laugh when Christopher did something comical. And of course, the way he’d made love to her last night. That hadn’t been something she had been prepared for. She hadn’t let anyone come close to her since Brian. And when she’d been with Brian…it didn’t compare with Evan.
And he’d seen her work. Her sketches. She knew her entire soul was revealed in her paintings, almost more than any words she’d ever said to him.
He walked over to stand beside her at the sink, looking out the window. “Quite the storm,” he said, his deep voice loud in the tiny kitchen. The heat that emanated off his strong body was so foreign in this space. She wasn’t used to sharing the kitchen with anyone other than herself and Chris. But he filled it up, all the emptiness and made her realize just how hollow things were before him.
“Talk to me,” he whispered, tugging her over to him. She spread her hands against his chest, the strong beating of his heart thumping against her palms. She couldn’t be drawn into the cocoon of security and safety he offered until she knew more.
“Last night complicated everything, and I don’t want to make this a bigger deal than it needs to be…” She tore her eyes away from his serious gaze and stared at his shoulder instead. Much easier. “I mean, I know for you last night might not have meant anything—”
“Not true. It did mean something.”
She nodded rapidly, feeling slightly like a bobblehead. “I should go pack up my art room.”
“Grace.” He captured her hand, his mouth pulled into a straight line.
“Before you tucked Chris into bed, I asked about you. Why it feels like you know everything about me and yet I know nothing about you?”
He leaned back against the counter, his features impassive. “That’s not true. You probably know more about me than anyone except my family.”
“That doesn’t exactly reassure me.”
He gave her one of his sexy half grins before wrapping her up into his arms. “I can spend all of tonight reassuring you,” he whispered against her hair. She closed her eyes and wished it were that simple. If she hadn’t learned from an early age that people she loved walked out on her, she might have been able to relax. But there was one thing different this time—Evan wasn’t like her father or Brian. She had never had a connection with either of them like she did with Evan. No one had ever made her feel as safe as Evan, and yet that didn’t make any sense at all. How could a man who hadn’t really given any of himself, or made any promises, make her feel safe?
She knew deep down that Evan hadn’t given his heart to her. But he had shown them more compassion and kindness than any man. He had won Christopher over, had become her son’s real-life superhero. Maybe, somehow, he’d have a change of heart. Maybe he would see that a life in Red River, with them, could be good enough for him.
Somehow she was going to have to g
et through this next week and then the gala. She would keep her end of the deal. And she would allow herself this time with him. Even though she had just broken every promise she’d ever made to herself, she knew she had fallen in love with him. Hopelessly. She hugged him tighter, burying her face in the warmth of his neck, drinking in his scent, feeling his strength, and silently made wishes like a little girl.
“Grace,” he whispered against the top of her head. His lips brushed against her hair, his voice sounding rough.
She squeezed her eyes shut and stayed still in the safety of his arms. “Tomorrow we’ll have to leave super early to get Chris to school on time and then to the office. Next weekend is the hospital gala.”
And then it would all be over. The fake fiancée. His position at the clinic. He’d be back in Toronto. She waited for him to answer. To say that it would be okay, that they’d figure something out. Instead, he gently grasped a handful of her hair and pulled her head back and looked at her. The raw emotion in his eyes stole her breath, followed by his mouth on hers. He silenced all her worries as he kissed her, demanding and yet giving, lifting her onto the counter until all she could think about was spending the rest of the night in his arms.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace tugged on Evan’s arm. “Evan?”
He stopped before entering the ballroom and then pulled her into a discreet corner. She let her gaze roam over him one more time. She hadn’t been able stop looking at him since he’d picked her up earlier tonight. Evan Manning in everyday clothing was already gorgeous. But in a tuxedo, he was devastating. He wore it confidently, as though he’d been born to wear one. She, on the other hand had tripped in her stilettos a few times while practicing around the house. Thankfully, she hadn’t repeated that mistake tonight.
This last week had been the best of her life. Evan had come over for dinner every night and played with Chris and read him bedtime stories. After Chris went to bed, they’d sneak up to her room, lock the door, and spend the rest of the night in each other’s arms. Evan had drawn out this whole other side to herself she didn’t know she had. And then he’d tiptoe out of the house, early morning before Chris woke. And every morning when she watched him drive away, she swore that she wasn’t hopelessly in love with him.
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