Nobody Said It’d be Easy

  Retreat, retreat, retreat!

  He climbed up the steps that led to the front door of Unit D, opened the door and handed them to her. “Here.” He stepped aside so she could enter the space that he’d hoped to make his own.

  “Wait, Mr. Ivers.”

  Cursing again, he turned and waited, impatient, for her to say what she had to say. Instead, she stepped closer and he almost swayed.

  Lilacs.

  She smelled like the lilacs that bloomed around Mike’s upstate house. It was all he could do not to bury his face in all that hair.

  “I really am sorry about your dishes. I was trying to help, not insult you.”

  He stared at her for a minute or two, until Emmy squirmed in his arms. Those amazing dark eyes were full of honesty. “No problem. I…well, I’m sorry for over-reacting.”

  She smiled, a fast curve of full, peach-colored lips. He stepped closer, pulled by the magic of those dark chocolate eyes. God, she smelled nice. If he closed his eyes, he’d believe he was actually in Mike’s yard where all those lilacs bloomed.

  “Dad-dee, down.” Emmy commanded and absently, he obeyed. She took off like a shot, her little canvas shoes squeaking on the hardwood floors and Gabe jolted back to reality.

  “F-u-c-k me,” he muttered, running after her. “Emmy! Get back here.” He needed to retreat. Now.

  He heard Amelia close the door and that warning bell changed to a klaxon as he chased his daughter into the kitchen, snagging her before she put fingerprints on the fixtures.

  “Oh, wow! This is beautiful.” Amelia’s eyes scanned the rich cherry cabinets and she ran a hand slowly over the pale gray granite counter. Unlike his kitchen, which was part of his living room, this one was a separate room with an L-shaped counter and room for a small table.

  “Appliances included but no dishwasher.”

  “What about washer and dryer?”

  He strode to the door at one end of the long room, showed her the stackable units.

  “What’s this door?” She straightened up and peered through the small window.

  “Rear entry. It leads to the courtyard.” He flipped the locks, opened the door and showed her the view.

  “Is there a bathroom on this level?”

  He shook his head, refastening the rear door. “One bath. But it’s large. Mike didn’t tell you anything about this place?”

  “Mike who?”

  “Kinsella. The owner. Well, his uncle is technically the owner, but he does most of the property management.”

  “No, I’m not especially close to the Kinsellas. I needed a place—fast. A friend of a friend knows Vince Kinsella.”

  Gabe nodded. “Mike’s uncle.”

  He led her to the stairs. “Upstairs, there’s a master, two small bedrooms, and bathroom.”

  They climbed the stairs, Lia leading and Gabe trying heroically not to stare at her ass.

  “The two small bedrooms are the same size. This is the master.” He opened a door and stepped inside. “This switch controls the overhead light and that outlet,” he explained, pointing to an outlet in the corner of the large room. “Make sure you don’t plug in your alarm clock there.”

  “Got it.” She stepped inside, looked around. The unit had no carpeting so her tennis shoes squeaked on the hardwood floors. She opened the closet, peered inside. “So bed goes here.” She spread both arms in front of the long wall that faced two narrow windows. “Dresser there.”

  Bed. Gabe’s mind went blank. Her bed. Emmy squirmed in his arms so he put her down again. She promptly ran to the closet and tried to hide. Lia moved to the windows, glanced down. “How do these open?”

  “They’ve got cranks.” He stepped toward her, reached for the lock and rotated the handle to demonstrate.

  She opened the other side. “Oh. Heavy.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, eyes pinned to her mouth. It was a really great mouth. Wide, soft lips that made him wonder what it would be like to kiss her, feel all that blazing hair spill over them and just sink into all that softness.

  They’d taste…sweet, he decided. He’d start at the corner, the one where the dimple was, and then he’d cover her entire mouth and it would be amazing. He’d fill up on her scent, take his hands on a cruise over the satin expanse of her skin.

  “Dad-dee!” Emmy smacked his legs and suddenly, he was sucked out of his fantasy, crashing back down to earth with an audible gasp.

  Amelia stared back at him, lips parted and damn him, it physically hurt to tear his eyes away.

  “Dad-dee!”

  He cursed viciously and silently because he’d just fantasized about kissing a tenant, about kissing a woman he’d just met.

  About kissing a woman who wasn’t Janey.

  “What, sweetheart?”

  “Dad-dee, wanna bath.” Emmy ran toward the bathtub. He was right behind her, scooped her up.

  “No. You’ll take a bath tonight. Right now, you need lunch.”

  He headed for the door, calling out behind him. “We’ll do the paperwork later. Key’s on your kitchen counter.”

  “Thank you!” she called back.

  *

  Outside in the clean fall air, he drew a deep breath and walked back through the courtyard to his own apartment. “That was close, Emmy.”

  “Cose, Dad-dee,” she agreed.

  He unlocked his door, let the baby loose, and let out a low whistle. Amelia Blake was hot, no doubt. But—

  No.

  He was not going there. He jerked open the refrigerator door, pulled out an apple, a carton of yogurt, and a plastic container of chicken he’d grilled for last night’s dinner. He cut up the chicken and the apple, grabbed a spoon and—and—

  Emmy was gone.

  “Hey, where’d you go, E-Rex?”

  A muffled giggle was his only response. Grinning, he followed the sound and found Emmy tangled up in his unmade bed. “Gotcha!”

  She squealed in delight and he tossed her up and into his arms so he could strap her into her high chair. “Lunch time, Emmy.”

  He strode back to the kitchen while his daughter clapped her chubby hands together. “Yay!”

  “Here you go. You got yogurt and chicken and apples.”

  “Ooo. Apples.”

  She gobbled up her lunch and soon started her cranky dance. He unfastened her from the high chair, took her to the bedroom where he stripped off her pink jacket, her white shoes, found her blanket and favorite stuffed toy, and put her in her crib. She cried bitterly, as she always did, but he knew she’d be zonked in about five minutes.

  He shut the door and returned to the kitchen to make himself a chicken sandwich to go with the extra-large cup of coffee he planned to inject directly into a vein. He took coffee and sandwich to the sofa, spotted the note he’d jotted that morning.

  Call Jim re: part-time work.

  He grabbed his phone, called Jim at Paradigm.

  “Jim. It’s Gabe. Can you tell me more about what you’d need me to do? I’m interested.”

  He and Jim talked for fifteen minutes. By the time Gabe began his household chores, the basic form of a new plan started to take shape. He could return to engineering work part-time, maybe once a week. It would give him a nice infusion of cash, allowing him the flexibility to scoop up a larger unit as soon as one became available. He’d have to talk to the girls, of course. But it could work.

  Amelia had already done the dishes, which he should have thanked her for, instead of, well, instead of jumping to conclusions. He made his bed, picked up clothes, dusted furniture, and dumped the laundry basket outside the door to the girls’ room.

  Emmy was quiet now.

  He poked his head in. She was sound asleep, her bear and blanket clutched tightly in her arms and tear tracks still fresh on her face. He leaned on the doorframe and just watched her. His own mini-me. Maddie was completely Janey’s. That punch in the gut hurt bad, but he breathed through it and heard Amelia Blake’s words.

  You’re very lucky.
/>
  Somehow, it didn’t seem to hurt as deep.

  Laundry going, dusting done, he’d been about to plan that night’s dinner when a soft knock sounded on the door. He strode to the window, glanced out and froze.

  Amelia Blake was on his front steps.

  Damn it, damn it, damn it.

  For about five seconds, he considered not answering the door. But that was chicken-shit and he knew it. He opened the door with a cautious, “Hi.”

  Amelia frowned at his tone. “Your sippy cup.” She held it up by one of its bright pink plastic handles.

  Manners demanded he acknowledge her courtesy with gratitude. “Thanks.” He tried to close the door fast, but she slapped a hand to it.

  The eyebrows arching over those fascinating eyes slammed together. “Did I do something or say something wrong? I’m sorry if I did. I just…”

  He’d upset her. Good. Maybe she’d leave. Please, please, please, leave. “No, nothing. It’s…it’s fine.”

  Dark eyes softening, she cocked her head and studied him. “Look, Mr. Ivers. I said I was sorry about the dishes. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought I was helping.”

  “Yeah, no, it’s fine.”

  She gave him the yeah, right look and changed the subject. “The movers arrived and are hauling in my stuff right now. Meanwhile, I have questions.” From the leather bag strapped to her shoulder, she removed a thick spiral-bound notebook whose cover said MY JOURNAL in fancy script. She opened the book and ran an index finger down a list. “Am I allowed to decorate and if so, to what extent? Can I remove a cabinet and have a dishwasher installed at my own expense? And what about security? I would like a security system installed. Also, you didn’t tell me anything about parking or storage. Is there a garage? If so, is it included in the rent? Finally, what services do you provide? If I needed a shelf hung, would you do that?”

  His mind blanked when she asked about his services.

  Christ, he was thirty-seven years old and one question from this woman had him thinking like an adolescent boy again. Furious with himself, he took a deep breath, and opened the door to her. “Come in.” He headed for the kitchen area, held out a chair.

  She stepped into his living room again, closing the door behind her. He watched her eyes scan the apartment, taking in the vacuum he hadn’t put away yet, and his face burned. “Oh, um. Let me just put that away.” He busied himself wrapping the cord around the vacuum, grabbed it and hid it in his bedroom.

  “You’ve done a ton of work since we parted. Do you do windows? I’ll hire you to clean my place.”

  He gaped at her. Parted? Who spoke like this? “You talk like a Jane Austen novel.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Well, that’s good, since I once wanted to become a literary editor.” And then she narrowed her eyes. “You’ve read Austen?”

  He hadn’t read Austen since he and Janey were dating and he’d wanted to impress her but the question as well as the incredulous tone insulted him anyway. “Yeah, I have.” he snapped.

  He froze when she jerked at his tone. Enough was enough. He wasn’t a love-sick fifteen-year-old anymore. He raked his hands through his hair and indicated the chair. “I’m sorry again. I’d tell you it’s not you, it’s me, but that’s such a stupid—”

  “Cliché.”

  “Exactly.”

  She walked over, took the chair he’d held out for her.

  The way she moved…he could watch her for hours. If not for the squeak of shoes on the wood floor, he’d never have heard her move.

  Ballet.

  She reminded him of ballet.

  God, it had been thirty years since he’d seen a ballet. He must have been four—no, six. That’s right. It had been a first grade field trip. They’d taken a fancy bus with a bathroom in it all the way to Manhattan to see Swan Lake. He’d thought it was dumb until a dancer lifted one leg high over her head. He’d tried it as soon as he got home and had to contend with pain for nearly a week after he’d pulled a groin muscle. He should take the girls, he suddenly thought. They’d love it. Why hadn’t he ever thought to take his daughters to a ballet?

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

  Blinking, he lifted his eyebrows. “What for?”

  She bit her lip and then shrugged. “Something about me makes you sad, which you try to cover up with mad.”

  He didn’t bother denying it. Their eyes met and something inside him went click.

  He spelled out another curse as Lia stood and left his apartment.

  *

  As soon as Lia had seen the apartment, she doubled down on her promise to make this move work. Her first step toward that goal?

  Expanding Blake Virtual Services.

  Her clients had been patient while she’d recovered. It was time to repay them.

  The movers hadn’t taken very long to haul Lia’s boxes and furniture inside. As soon as they’d left, she found her tools and assembled her bed frame, muscled the mattress into place, and spent a satisfying hour spreading out her new bedding. She’d been told the apartment would be all neutral walls, so she’d chosen dramatic gray bedding with a bold print.

  Now, she wanted food and decided that would provide the perfect opportunity to check in with her clients. Okay, two birds, one stone. She grabbed her bag and headed for the pizza place that she’d noticed nearby.

  The September weather was perfect so Lia decided to walk, taking her time, smiling at a group of people standing on a corner.

  Oh, right. It was almost three o’clock. That must be the school bus stop. She walked by, turned in to the pizza store and ordered a slice and a Coke, took it to the high counter by the window and watched the neighborhood go by. She took out her journal and her phone, checked email, checked texts, made some notes.

  One of her authors needed her to do some chocolate history research for a cookbook project. Another client, a mathematics professor, needed her to look up everything she could find on some obscure mathematical theory for an article she was writing for the New York Times. She added to her notes, then shifted gears. She needed supplies. Groceries. And she needed a desk, maybe some shelves. She’d have to unpack her kitchen first, then toiletries.

  A movement from the corner of her eye snagged her attention.

  Gabriel.

  He was pushing Emmy in her stroller, carrying a heavy pack on one shoulder. His pretty hair clips were gone now and wasn’t that too bad? He didn’t care who thought it was strange; he wore hair clips and nail polish to make his daughter smile. As he approached, Lia watched three women exchange grins. When one fanned her face, Lia bit back a smile of her own. Yep. Gabriel Ivers was hot; there was no doubt about that.

  She watched him closely as he stopped to chat with the bus stop crowd, crouched down to Emmy’s level when one of the women tickled her belly. He waited for a few minutes, adjusting his heavy pack, then disappeared behind the large yellow bus that stopped to drop off children.

  Oh. Right. He still had to repair his car.

  When the bus pulled away, Gabriel was gone. Lia found herself angling her head to see down the side street where his car had stalled. That’s where he’d be.

  Should she offer to help him? She could mind little Emmy while he worked.

  Which made her no better than Candi-with-an-I.

  Abruptly, she dropped her napkin and collected her trash. She needed to stay well away from Gabriel Ivers and his daughter.

  Well away.

  Chapter Six

  Gabe stared at the lease document, signed by Amelia Blake.

  A year. A whole year. Oh, boy. He was in trouble.

  He filed the lease in the desk tucked into the corner of his bedroom and tried not to think about her. Tried not to think of that mane of auburn hair that smelled like lilacs, or the soft husky voice that made him think of silk and satin.

  The timer went off in the kitchen. He hurried to the oven, pulled out the meatloaf.

  “Stop it, Maddie!” Olivia shouted from the living
room.

  He glanced up. Maddie, dressed in her princess outfit, was twirling around in circles.

  She liked to make the skirt flare out.

  Emmy giggled but Olivia was trying to watching TV, and growing more annoyed by the second. He grabbed plates from a cabinet, put a slab of meat on each, put them on the table and before any more tempers flared, called, “Girls. Dinner time.”

  “Meatloaf, again?” Maddie complained, as she took her seat.

  Gabe lifted a brow. “Maybe you’d like to cook instead?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head. “What else are we having?”

  “Potatoes, gravy, and green beans.”

  “Yay! I love gravy, right, Daddy? Right?”

  “Yes, Maddie. I’ll give you a bit extra, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Kim, could you buckle Emmy in her chair?”

  She did, but with considerable attitude. He tossed utensils and napkins into the center of the table. From the refrigerator, he took the carton of milk out. He sat down, cut up a slice of meatloaf for Emmy’s tray, and tried to ignore Kimberly’s bad mood, Olivia’s frustration, and Maddie’s chatter.

  “Daddy, what’s in meatloaf?”

  “Uh, meat, breadcrumbs, eggs, and some spices.”

  “What’s in meat?” She continued to dance in her chair.

  Battling the urge to sigh, he said, “Well, this meat is beef. Some meat is chicken and other meat is pork.”

  “What’s beef?”

  “Maddie, please eat.”

  “But what kind of meat is beef?”

  “It’s cow, dummy.” Olivia grabbed the carton of milk.

  “Olivia,” he snapped. “Stop using that word.”

  Maddie’s lip quivered. “Cow?” She put down her fork. “Daddy, I can’t eat a cow! Cows are nice and it’s not nice to…to cook them!” She burst into tears and Gabe’s patience shattered.

  “Eat your dinner or go to bed.”

  “But, Daddy! It’s a poor little animal.”

  “Fine. Don’t eat the meat. Here. Eat extra vegetables.” He scooped another helping of green beans onto her plate, watched her lip quiver some more.