by Hart, Emma
With any luck he’d be taking the kids out, and I’d be able to just walk in, go upstairs, and get on with it.
I dressed in my usual uniform and towel dried my hair before putting the damp locks into a braid that hung over my shoulder.
The best thing to do was get there and get this over and done with.
Even if it sucked.
***
Unfortunately for me, when I pulled up outside the house, Brantley’s car was parked in the driveway.
Great.
I sat inside my truck for a minute before taking a deep breath, getting out, and grabbing my tools from the back.
My heart thumped a little too hard as I approached the front door. It swung open before I could even knock, and Ellie stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of Disney Princess panties.
Waell, I guess it was better than the inexplicable time Eli had answered the door wearing a superhero cape, his underwear, and red rain boots. At least this one could be explained by her getting dressed.
“Ellie!” shouted Brantley from inside. “Get back in here and finish getting dressed or we’re not going anywhere!”
“It’s Kawi!” she shouted, giving me a cheeky grin before running back inside.
I hesitated only for a second before I walked into the hallway and shut the front door behind me.
“I know it’s Kali,” said Brantley. “I can see her car outside. Will you now please finish getting dressed?”
I took a few tentative steps towards the front room door, my stomach turning as I did. Looking in, I saw that he had his back to me and was currently wrestling with Eli about which hole you are went into which hole your head went into. Apparently, Eli kept putting his head through the armhole, meaning both straps of his tank top were on one shoulder and only one arm was through.
“Daddy, where are my shorts?” asked Ellie. “Dey were here a mimmit ago.”
Brantley sighed, finally getting Eli’s head and arms through the right holes of his superhero shirt. He turned to look at Ellie. “I’m going to say they are wherever you thre them five minutes ago when you were having a tantrum.” He raised eyebrows at her.
Ellie put her hands on her hips. “I did not had a tantwum,” she said. “I was just shawing my annoyance.”
“Whatever you say,” said Brantley. “I’m calling it a tantrum. I don’t care what you want to call it. Just go and find your clothes.”
Eli slowly raised his hand pointing his middle finger up at the ceiling. Brantley tilted his head back to look up at what he was pointing at. I, too, followed the line of sight, and had to stifle a giggle when I saw what Eli had spotted.
Ellie’s shorts were hanging from the light fixture.
Brantley buried his head in his hands.
I guess it been that kind of morning for him.
With a sigh, he stood and pulled the shorts from the light fixture. He tossed them Ellie’s way, with a stern look for her to get dressed.
Then, finally, he turned to me, meeting my eyes. It took all for two seconds for a red-hot blush to work its way through my cheeks. Hell, if he was thinking what I was thinking in this moment—which was how it felt to be against the wall with him fucking me—then I didn’t know how he wasn’t blushing himself.
He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Ellie was getting dressed before walking towards me. A slow, easy smile stretched across his handsome face. “Morning,” he said, his voice low.
I cleared my throat and scratched the back of my neck awkwardly. “Morning,” I replied. “Is all the flatpack furniture still in the garage?”
He nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t realize that what you are doing today or I would have taken upstairs for you.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “It’s okay,” I said. “I was hoping to build their closets today.”
Brantley nodded. “Let me help you carry them upstairs before I take the kids out.”
“No, no. It’s okay. I can do it.”
He quirked an eyebrow, smirking. “No, I’m helping you.”
I opened my mouth to argue further, but the way he was looking at me told me that it would be futile. So, instead of arguing, I decided to give in and let him help me. He was going to do anyway.
He poked his head into the front room to see if the kids were okay. They’d both made their way onto the sofa and, they were, for now, sitting and watching TV nicely. He motioned with his hand to me to follow him.
I put down my toolbox at the bottom of the stairs and following him towards the door in the kitchen that led to the garage.
The boxes were where we’d left them when the delivery came and I rifled through them and the delivery note to find the box that Ellie’s closet was in.
“Here, it’s this one,” said Brantley. He tapped the box at the very back.
I sighed. Of course, it would be the one at the back where we’d have to move about six boxes to be able to get to it. “All right.” I stared at it. “It looks really heavy.”
He smirked. “That’s exactly why I’m here to help you.
“Are you saying I’m weak?” I raised an eyebrow teasingly.
The smirk transformed into a grin. “No. If you were weak, then my shoulders wouldn’t look like they’d been in a fight with a tiger.”
Once again, my cheeks flushed bright red. “Yes, well,” I paused. I didn’t know what to say to that.
Amusement danced in his eyes. He grabbed a box, his biceps flexing as he moved it. “Aside from not raising my children to be assholes, I think my life’s mission is to make you blush every time I see you.”
“I take issue with that mission.” I pushed a box across the floor.
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t like it.”
“You want my kids to grow up to be assholes?”
I frowned at him. “That’s not the one I was talking about, and you know it.”
“I know.” He grabbed a box that held Eli’s dresser and stacked it against the other wall. “But, you’re also really adorable when you frown, so I might make you do that, too.”
“I’m not adorable. Puppies are adorable. Kittens, rabbits, hell, even baby goats are adorable.” I sniffed and rested my hands on top of the closet box. “I. Am. Not. Adorable.”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Personally, I don’t care much for rabbits.”
“Neither do I, but that doesn’t mean they’re ugly.”
He held his hands up. “I think you’re adorable. Especially right now, when you’re trying to glare at me with your nose all wrinkled up.”
I clapped my hand over my nose. “Can we not talk about this? I have work to do.”
“We can not talk about this right now. Grab your end of the box and lift it up on three. One, two, three.”
We both picked it up.
Shit, it was heavy.
“Thank you,” I said as we carried it through the kitchen to the hallway.
“I said right now,” Brantley continued, taking the first stair and glancing over his shoulder.
I was really taking the brunt of the weight of this box, and my arms were shaking. “What is right now supposed to mean?”
“It means we still have to have a conversation.”
“A conversation? About what?”
“Well, for a start, about the fact your thong is in my washing machine.”
I almost dropped the box.
He stopped. “Are you all right?”
“Why the hell is my thong in your washing machine?”
Moving again, he said, “Because you forgot to put it back on last night before you left, and I thought you’d appreciate me cleaning it for you.”
I exhaled slowly. “And here I was, thinking we could avoid mentioning anything about last night.”
“Why would we do that? Seeing you blush every ten seconds is much more fun.”
“You have a warped idea of fun.”
“Coming from the woman who uses a paintbrush as a micropho
ne.”
We reached the top of the stairs and I let go of the box. “Look,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “First of all, I did that one time. One. Time. Second, I have a large hoard of very adoring fans in your backyard who were incredibly honored to have witnessed such a fabulous display of entertainment from me.”
His lips twitched. “You had one fan in the doorway who enjoyed watching your shake your ass for two minutes straight.”
I blinked at him. “I might be late to the party, but we’ve definitely shattered any illusion of professionalism here, haven’t we?”
Brantley shoved the box into Ellie’s room and, then, very slowly, turned to me with one eyebrow raised. “Yes. I figured that out last night. Right about the time I was eight inches deep inside you.”
I coughed on thin air. My cheeks burned again, and his lips formed a smirk.
“What’s that? Three times today? I’m on fire. Like your cheeks.”
“Oh my god!” I took the last two steps and smacked my hand against his chest. “You infuriating man.”
He grinned, leaning against the doorframe as I passed him. “If I kissed you right now, would you slap me again? It was kind of hot.”
“Now, I know you’re messing with me.” I pointed my finger at him. “Stop it. You have children to take out and I have a huge-ass, flatpack closet to build. There’s no time for your bullshit.”
He laughed as I passed him, once again, but this time, I left the room. I couldn’t build it without my tools which were downstairs. I ran down, poked my head in the living room to see the miracle of the twins still sitting nicely together, and grabbed my toolbox.
Brantley was still leaning against the doorframe when I got back upstairs. His arms were folded across his chest, and his gaze followed me as I eked past him into the room.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” I set the toolbox down next to the giant box.
“Do you mind if I do?”
“Yes. If you’re not going to go out, help me open this box.”
“Are you this bossy to all your clients?”
“No. You should know by now you get special privileges.” I pulled a pocketknife from my toolbox and sliced open the tape holding one side of the box together. “And not all of them are enjoyable for you.”
“I don’t know…” he trailed off. “It is quite enjoyable when you tell me what to do.”
“It’s a shame you don’t ever do it.”
He grinned. “I was only going to the store. Not some wondrous day out where they get to run around like hellions. At a push, I was going to take them to the beach tonight.”
“All I hear from this is your opinion that they need to go somewhere to run around like hellions.” I paused, and a shout came from downstairs.
“Daddy! Daaaadddyyyy!” Ellie’s shriek got louder, and stomps on the stairs echoed. “Ewi hit me!”
Without blinking, he replied, “What did you do to him?”
“Nuffink!”
“What did you do to him?”
She mumbled something under her breath, dipping her head.
“Eleanor.”
“Pushed him off the sofa.”
I coughed to hide my laugh.
“Then the lesson here is, don’t push your brother and he won’t hit you, isn’t it?” Brantley sighed. “We’ve covered this a hundred times.”
“But it hurted me.” She sniffed, giving him puppy dog eyes.
“Okay? So, let’s go downstairs. I’ll push you off the sofa and you can see if it hurts, too.”
Her eyes widened, from puppy dog to deer in headlights. “No. I’m okay. I go say sowwy now.”
Brantley nodded, watching her go.
“I can’t decide if that parenting technique is brilliant or…well, brilliant,” I admitted.
“Thank you.” His lips twitched. “It’s simple. If she didn’t push him, he wouldn’t hit her. After the paint fiasco, you’d think she’d know that. The stuff she does always gets a reaction.”
“What about Eli? Will you tell him not to hit her?”
“No. If she pushed him, she deserved it. Eventually, she’ll get the message.”
“So, basically, what you’re saying is that you’re raising both the kid who throws the first punch and the one who always punches back?”
He paused. “That’s the most accurate description of my children I’ve ever heard.”
I laughed, opening the box fully and picking up the instructions.
At least this wasn’t Ikea furniture.
I liked my patience, and I wanted to keep it today.
“That’s a lot of pieces,” he muttered, looking at the box.
“About normal.” I paused, then looked from the box to him. “You sounded…weary. Like this is terrifying.”
“I don’t build flat-pack furniture,” he admitted, dropping his arms and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I can’t build it, actually.”
I looked at him for a moment. “Not even, like, a table? Or a bookshelf?”
Grimacing, he shook his head. “My father always used to do it. For whatever reason, I just can’t do it.”
I blinked. Several times. “You can’t build flat-pack furniture?”
“Nope. It doesn’t matter where it’s from. Whether it’s a local store or Ikea…”
“First, nobody can build Ikea furniture. Well, I can, but I don’t like to.” I put down the instructions. “But, this? Easy. I might need some help to hold some pieces together, but honestly, it’s like stacking Lego.”
“More like stepping on Lego,” he muttered.
“I can’t believe you can’t build flat-pack furniture.”
“Here we go. I never should have told you that.”
“I’m going to bring it up every single time you mention me blushing. I promise you that.” I laughed, sweeping the instructions to the side and pulling out the first bit of solid wood. “Every. Single. Time.”
He pushed off the door, smirking. “Rookie error, Kali.”
“What is?”
“What you should have said is you’ll bring it up every time I make you blush. Now, I’ll keep making you blush, and just not mention it.”
My lips parted. “No, wait. That’s not fair!”
He went to step out of the door, then stopped. “You promised. You can’t take it back. Oh, and by the way? I dreamed of you naked in my bed last night.”
I gasped, moving forward to be on my hands and knees as if I were going to chase him.
“What a coincidence.” He smirked. “You were just like that.”
I dropped back onto my knees immediately. “You rotten bastard!” I snapped through the burning of my cheeks.
He winked, and, on that note, left, shouting for the kids to find their shoes.
I stared after him for the longest moment.
That sounded like a war declaration to me.
My lips curved.
If you can’t beat them…
Torture them.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Look, I didn’t mean to go home and get changed.
Well, not entirely. It hadn’t been my initial idea, but when I’d built the main structure of the closet and only had to add in the rail and the shelves, and Brantley still wasn’t back, I made a flash choice around lunchtime.
In my defense, he’d started it. He was the one who’d declared war upon me and my blushing.
Yeah. He’d started it, and I was ready to finish it.
I adjusted my bra and glanced at my legs. This skirt was basically indecent—like hotpants but without the stretch of denim covering your vagina. I hoped like hell I wouldn’t have to bend over around the kids.
Jesus, that would scar the poor things for life.
I slotted the rail into Ellie’s closet and took a step back. The doors were open, but the pink and white closet was every little girl’s dream. Complete with custom handles in the shape of a tiara. She was going to freak the hell out when she got b
ack and saw this.
I closed the doors and gave it a push across the floor so it was against the wall. I blew out a heavy sigh, then turned my attention to the mess of packaging. My Spotify playlist ticked over to the next song, and I hummed along as the familiar tune of Ed Sheeran’s Galway Girl filled the room.
It made the clean-up a little better. I just wasn’t going to hold an impromptu concert this time…just in case.
The last thing I needed was for Brantley to come in and see me using a screwdriver as a microphone this time.
With all the trash sorted and in the opposite corner, I headed downstairs to the garage and found the box that had Ellie’s drawers. I would build her furniture first, and get her room ready except for the bed before turning my attention to Eli’s.
The box was lighter than the closet, and I was able to move it myself. I heaved it upstairs into her room and set it down. I glanced around for my pocketknife to slice it open, humming along to another Ed Sheeran song I didn’t know the title of. I found it in the trash in the corner of the room, grabbed it, and kneeled down to open the box.
“Jesus!”
My hand slipped in shock and I sliced my finger open.
“Shit!” I immediately dropped the knife and brought my finger to my mouth. “Ouch!” I mumbled against my finger.
“Oh, shit.” Brantley crossed the room in two quick strides. “I was about to tell you to warn a guy you’re wearing next to nothing, but never mind. Let me look.”
I shook my head and pulled my finger out of my mouth. “It’s fine. It’s not deep. It’ll stop bleeding in a minute.”
It really, really fucking hurt, though.
“Let me see.” He grabbed my wrist and looked. “That’s not going to stop by itself.”
“How do you know?” I brought it back to my mouth.
He met my eyes and said dryly, “I have a four-year-old son. I’ve seen more cuts and scrapes than you can imagine. Come downstairs and I’ll get the First Aid kit.”
“It’s fine,” I mumbled against my skin. “Really, it’s my own fault.”
“I won’t argue with that.” He stood. “Come on.”
I sighed and followed him. Maybe he was right—my finger was showing no signs of slowing down its bleeding.
Just great.
