Chapter Twenty

Callie

“That lady sounds nuts, Callie,” Katerina says on speakerphone as I busy myself in the kitchen, making Emery a snack. “What was she thinking bringing Jorge? That is a very sick-in-the-head woman if you ask me.”

“I know, right?” I reply. “It’s like she hates me for doing my job. And, maybe, for being close to Gray. But seriously, Kat, from what Gray told me, she seems even crazier. I can’t share the specifics, obviously, but it’s just wrong.”

I didn’t want to tell Gray what I thought with such harsh language, but just wrong doesn’t even come close to my opinion of what she did to him. No matter how much I try to remind myself to stay away, I keep getting drawn in. Physically and emotionally.

Ending the phone call, I bring Emery a sandwich. She’s sitting in front of the TV, watching a nature documentary. She’s a constant source of amazement to me. Sometimes, with the twins, I’d have almost to wrestle them away from cartoons or some other mind-numbing show. But she chose a documentary. As I sit beside her, I almost wish I could turn back time and switch off my desire.

If I commit to this feeling and throw myself into a relationship with Gray, it has to last forever. Or, at least, until Emery is grown up and out of the house. I refuse to make her attached to me, to be the mommy she never had, only to bring it crashing down and shatter her heart. After my own mom chose those people over me, I simply will not do that.

“C-A-L-L-I-E,” Emery murmurs.

“Yes?”

“Can I make you and Daddy a meal?”

I smile. “Where did that come from?”

She gets a twinkle in her eye. “I want to practice my cooking. Daddy lets me cook, but he has to…” She thinks for a moment. “Supervise me. Right?”

She’s asking if she used ‘supervise’ correctly. “That’s right.”

“I think it’d be really fun. Can I? Pleeease?”

“I’ll call your dad and check. He may have plans tonight.”

I hope , I think but don’t say. The twinkle in Emery’s eye has a quality of conspiracy to it, almost like she’s decided to play Cupid and set me and her dad up. I’d normally be wary of thinking like this about a seven-year-old, but Emery is very precocious. As the phone rings, I wonder what direction that talented streak in her will take. Nurtured by Sloane, it could become cunning, calculating. With Gray, it’s bound to end up selfless and productive.

“Hey,” Gray says, sounding a little withdrawn.

“Sorry. Is it a bad time?”

“No. Is Emery okay?”

I smile. That’s always his first question. He never planned on becoming a single father, but he rose to the challenge so freaking well. “Yeah, she’s great. Actually, she’s had an idea. She wants to cook us a meal tonight.”

“Oh really?” His tone grows warm. I imagine him sitting at his desk in the city, looming over it, a smile on his handsome face. “That’s cute. Any particular reason.”

“I don’t know. She seems really into the idea, though.”

“Who would I be to tell her no?” he says, chuckling. Am I imagining it, or does the laughter seem forced? Could I tell, just by the tone of his voice? “Yeah, sure. I should be home in about two hours.”

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Huh?”

“You just sound… different. I’m sorry I blew you off last night.” What am I even saying? I shouldn’t be apologizing. I made the right choice. But I don’t like this cold feeling coming from him. Which makes me a hypocrite, because I’m trying my best to be cold toward him.

“You were being the mature you,” he says. “I’m the one with gray in my hair, but you were thinking straight.”

“Silver,” I murmur.

“Callie?”

“Your hair, when I look at it, it doesn’t seem gray. It seems silver, almost like you chose to make it that way. But you didn’t dye it. That’s just not you. Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m probably not making any sense.”

“Whatever you’re saying, it sounds like a compliment. I’ll take it.”

When he chuckles, I laugh too. It feels way too easy.

***

When Gray arrives home, I sense something off with him. He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it up, kneeling to give Emery a hug. When he looks at me, something almost like fear flashes across his eyes. It’s as if he’s afraid of what he feels for me—like he can’t take it anymore. Or am I flattering myself by thinking like that?

“Daddy, can I cook some burgers, please? For you and Callie?”

“And for yourself, sweetness.”

“No, this is your meal.”

He smiles. “Okay, then, mystery girl. Let’s go.”

The three of us go into the kitchen. Gray walks close to me, near enough so I can feel his heat and smell his cologne, but there’s also that feeling of distance. I want to pinch myself and jolt myself out of these overactive thoughts.

I help Emery get everything set up, and then she turns to me with a very grownup look and says, “Callie, you can’t rush a chef.”

It’s so adorable. Gray and I start laughing. He grins at me, and some of the awkwardness melts away. The two of us sit at the kitchen bar, keeping a close watch on Emery as she begins to make her burgers from minced meat. She’s a very conscientious chef, washing her hands often.

“She’s too cute, isn’t she?” Gray says, looking at me with that conflicted expression.

“The cutest.”

I want to lean over, lower my voice, and ask him if he’s spoken to Sloane or if something else happened today to bother him. I want to ask, Good day at work, hon? And then bring him a hot cocoa or a coffee, maybe a newspaper. He’s making me feel maternal and wifely. It’s strange and not something I signed up for.

“Keep talking, you two,” Emery says, glancing over at us.

“You seem like you’re up to something, little lady,” I say.

“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head, but she’s not kidding anyone.

“Callie’s right,” Gray says. “Why are you so keen on this meal, huh?”

She shakes her head again and then mimes zipping her mouth shut. That gets Gray and me laughing even more. She’s giving us cuteness overload.

“Let me help you with that part,” I say when she’s ready to put the burgers in the oven.

“ I can do it,” she says.

I wag my finger at her. “I’ve got no doubt that you can, E-M-E-R-Y.” She giggles, loving it when I spell her name for a change. “But I wouldn’t be a very good nanny if I let you burn yourself, would I?”

“I’m seven years old, not seven months .”

She’s on fire tonight. Gray and I can’t stop laughing. We’re building heartwarming memories, and no matter how much I try to fight it, I can’t. In fact, the cuter she is, the more I realize I don’t want to fight it.

After putting the burgers in the oven, Emery takes my hand and leads me toward the door. She stops at the hallway and turns to Gray with a demanding look on her face. “Well, are you coming ?”

Gray grins at me, then winks at his daughter. “Right on your tail, Miss Bossy.”

Emery leads us through the house into the library. My breath catches when I see what she’s done. It’s all the confirmation I need that she’s trying to set me up with her dad in her own cute, adorable way. She’s gathered as many flower petals from the garden as she can find and scattered them all over the library. Gray leans against the doorframe, one hand on his forehead. He gives me a look—half longing, half regret. I get it. This is so, so sweet, but also terrible. The last thing we need is Emery rooting for us.

What if she says something to Sloane? What if, as most relationships do, we end, and it hurts her?

“What do you think?” Emery says, bubbling up with pride, actually hopping up and down on the spot.

Gray approaches her slowly, kneels, and takes her hand. I stand nearby, my hands clasped together, mixed emotions pulsing through me. I want to tell her she’s done a great job. That I’m proud of her. I want to tell her I want this as badly as she does—to be with her dad, to make a life with him and her.

“What are you thinking, Emery?” Gray asks softly. “Why did you do this?”

“The flowers are pretty, Daddy. Pretty like Callie.”

Gray sighs. “Oh, Em. But why? You can talk to me.”

Emery’s voice gets sad. She sounds like she could break into tears at any moment. “I—you know, Daddy—it would be nice to have a mommy who loves me. And Callie loves me. Right, Callie?”

She turns to me with wide-eyed hope. She’s breaking my heart. It was never supposed to get this far. But kids are perceptive. Gray and I might’ve thought we were hiding our feelings from her, but she must’ve picked up on something.

I look at Gray, wondering what I should say. He bites down and shakes his head softly.

“Callie is your nanny, Emery,” Gray says after a pause as if it’s causing him physical pain. “She’s an…” He clears his throat. “Employee, Emery.”

Emery looks and sounds angry. “What?”

“She works for us.” Gray glances at me, his eyes glistening. For a crazy second, I think he might cry. Then he hardens himself. Absurdly, his words stab at me almost painfully, as though he has no right to say this. But, of course, he does. It’s the truth. It’s what’s best for Emery. “It’s not fair to ask her questions about whether or not she loves you. As a nanny, it’s not her place to make comments like that.”

Emery folds her arms stubbornly. “But you love Callie.”

I gasp. A tremor goes through Gray, his temples pulsing. “Emery…”

“You do , Daddy,” she says as though it’s obvious. “You’re really happy now, always smiling. And you come home from work earlier. And you’re laughing, like, a lot . And you always look at her and get this funny and really cool look in your eyes. And when me and Callie are together, you look at us and it just makes me feel all fuzzy inside. You love her, Daddy. I love her. We both love Callie.”

My head is swimming. I knew she was precocious, but this is too much.

Gray closes his eyes for a moment, then slowly opens them and looks at me. “Callie,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I think I should have dinner with my daughter alone tonight.”

I can tell how difficult this is for him to say. It’s like he’s forcing the words out. It’s unfair for me to be offended, hurt, or feel anything about this. He’s got every right to react this way.

“That’s fine,” I murmur.

“But I made dinner, Daddy!” Emery says, starting to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Gray says. “But I can’t let this happen.”

“Let—what— huh-happen? ”

“I can’t let you think Callie is your mommy, Emery. Because what if Callie gets a new job? What if it doesn’t work out between us? What if she has to move on? You can’t get too attached.”

Emery turns to me, her eyes flooded with tears. It takes everything I have not to rush to her and sweep her into my arms. Unfairly, I want to hold her tightly and tell her I’m not going anywhere. Tell her that I’m never going to leave her. I want to make a bunch of unrealistic promises.

“You’re not getting a new job,” Emery yells.

“I’m sorry, Emery. I’m going to eat dinner alone tonight. I’m very grateful for the gesture. But your dad’s right. We need to do what’s best for you. We can’t risk your feelings.”

“You’re hurting my feelings now, ” she cries.

That stabs me like a knife. But I force one step in front of the other. It reminds me of when I was walking out of the cult, just one foot, then another, doing my best to leave the past behind. I don’t want to leave Emery or Gray behind—I want to sit in that petal-covered library and sip our drinks as we wait for our little waitress to make us dinner. I want to bond with Gray and Emery. I want to make promises about the future. I want to commit.

That means a lot from a woman who’s spent almost the entire last decade running.