She unwrapped the other gifts from me, each a different accessory for the dol , each a piece the saleswoman insisted she would love.
When the other boxes had been opened, Lizzie rose and raced across the lawn and into my lap, throwing her smal arms around my neck. “Thank-you, Daddy! I love her!” I held her to me, murmuring against her head. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Happy birthday.”
She sat back, her smile so wide it stretched over her entire face.
My heart felt as if it would burst against my chest.
I would do anything to see that smile.
I reached out and pushed back a lock of hair that had fal en into her eyes, my smile soft. “I love you, precious girl.”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
She hugged me again, hard, and then scooted off my lap and ran to finish opening the rest of her gifts.
I lifted my head and caught everyone staring at me. Al of them were quick to avert their attention back to Lizzie who started to open the last of her presents—al except for Elizabeth’s mother. Her expression was unreadable but intense and probing. I shifted in discomfort. If there was one person here besides Elizabeth and Lizzie whom I’d let down, it was Linda. I would never forget the last time I’d seen her, when she’d pul ed me aside and made me promise her that I’d never break her daughter’s heart. In a heartbeat, I’d sworn that I never would.
When Lizzie had thanked everyone a final time for her gifts, Elizabeth announced it was time for cake. Everyone gathered around the table, including myself. Unable to resist, I pul ed out my phone and recorded Lizzie as she grinned ear to ear, her eyes darting around to the people who loved her as they sang “Happy Birthday.” She sucked in a deep breath before blowing out al five candles in one fel swoop while everyone clapped and cal ed out, “Make a wish.”
Elizabeth’s face was indescribable as she celebrated with her daughter, ful of life and so much love. I saw joy and no evidence of the pain I had caused her. I stared a beat too long, and Elizabeth caught my eye. Her happiness drained, despondency taking its place. Shame urged me to look away, but I held fast.For a moment we were caught in each other, verging on something familiar, longing obscured by years of separation.
She blinked rapidly, breaking our connection, her hand shaking as she took a knife to slice into Lizzie’s cake.
I coerced myself back to my corner while thick, pink pieces of cake were passed out on even pinker plates.
Natalie stopped in front of me, arm extended. “Cake?” I raised a brow, caught off guard before shrugging and accepting the smal plate. “Thanks.” I offered a very cautious smile.
Her smile was wide as she plopped into the chair her husband had occupied earlier.
My smile faded as I prepared for attack.
“So, how are you holding up?”
I frowned. Was she real y asking me how I was doing?
“Um?” was about al I could manage, confused.
She chuckled, the sound warm in her throat. “That bad, huh?”
I shook my head and laughed under my breath at the unexpected exchange. “Nah. I’m just thankful to be here.” She took a bite of cake and murmured, “Hmm.” I turned and tried to read her, to search for her intent.
Her face was soft, free of displeasure as warm, brown eyes smiled back at me.
In an instant, I was taken back six years to the tender sweetness of Elizabeth.
Kindness.
Natalie radiated it.
For a moment, I looked away and gathered my courage before turning back to her. “Listen, I’m real y sorry about what happened at the store a couple of weeks ago.” I winced at the memory, the blatant terror in her eyes when I’d faced her in the parking lot. I swal owed, needing to explain myself. “I just saw her . . . and . . . I knew.” I shook my head with regret. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She grimaced but shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, you scared the hel out of me. I love that little girl so much. I’d do anything to protect her.” She glanced at Lizzie and then back to me, her expression serious. “But now that I know who you are I . . .” She pressed her lips together as if she were debating what to say. “I get it.”
Did she real y understand?
She must have seen the desperation in my face, because sympathy fel across her own. “I believe you.”
“You believe . . . what?” I asked.
“That you love her . . . love them.” She motioned to where Lizzie and Elizabeth sat on the grass, sharing a piece of cake. She looked back at me, searching my face.
“You do, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I do.”
She gave me a curt nod. “Good. Then don’t mess this up.”
I ran my hand through my hair, trying to make sense of this conversation. Two hours ago, her husband had al but threatened to kil me, and she seemed to be encouraging me. She grinned at my confusion, scooped her last piece of cake into her mouth, and hopped up. “See you around?” she prodded, her brow raised.
I nodded and repeated what I’d told her husband earlier. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Satisfaction spread across her face, and she extended her hand. Tentative, I reached out and shook it.
“Wel then, it’s nice to final y meet you, Christian Davison.” She breezed across the lawn, leaving me shaking my head, baffled to find such an unlikely al y, but thankful nonetheless.
The party wound down, and friends filtered out, saying their goodbyes and thank-yous.
I lingered.
I didn’t want to say goodbye.
When the last of Lizzie’s guests had left and only Matthew and Natalie remained, I reluctantly stood and made my way across the lawn. Lizzie sat in the grass playing with the dol I had given her.
I crouched down to run my hand through her soft hair. “I have to go now, sweetheart.”
Lizzie saddened. “Already?” Apparently, she didn’t want me to say goodbye either.
Smiling, I settled down in the grass next to her, pul ing her onto my lap and into my arms. I hugged her to me. “Yes, my angel, I have to go.”
She hugged me tighter, and from her mouth came a whispered plea. “Wil you come back?”
I choked on her fear.
I pul ed back, looking her in the eye. “Yes, Lizzie, I’l be back. I promise.” Glancing up, I caught Elizabeth watching us from inside the kitchen window, her wounds prominent in the lines across her forehead. “I promise,” I said again as I buried my face against the side of Lizzie’s head.
I had to force myself to stand, to turn my back, and to leave my little girl sitting in the middle of her yard. My feet were heavy as they entered the kitchen of the smal house.
My steps faltered when I came upon Elizabeth.
She stood with her back to me. Her hands were flat against the kitchen counter and her breathing was audible as she stared out at Lizzie through the window.
“Thank-you, Elizabeth,” I whispered.
She whimpered, her voice a quiet rasp, “Please, don’t hurt her.”
Al the air left me.
“I won’t.” Never.
Her body trembled as a quiet sob escaped. “What do you want, Christian?”
What did I want?
To make her smile, to wipe away her tears, to hold her.
To be a father, a real father, not one in title, but one who’d earned that right.
I wanted to stay.
“I want my family,” I forced through the lump in my throat.
Elizabeth went rigid, her hands digging into the counter for support, her words sharp. “Get out of my house.” I swal owed down my pain, the fear that I might never receive forgiveness, and nodded. “Okay,” I said quietly as I turned to leave. I hesitated in the archway, looking back over my shoulder. “But I’m coming back.”
Friday had always been a day I looked forward to, fil ed with anticipation for the weekend ahead and excitement for time spent with my daughter. Now it was a day of dread.
I glanced at the digita
l clock on the microwave. Only fifteen more minutes.
Plunging my hands into the soapy water, I tried to focus on the task in front of me instead of how much I hated this, but a mindless job like washing dishes wasn’t enough to cover up the ache in my heart.
Sharing my daughter was torture.
The day after Lizzie’s birthday, Christian had cal ed at seven fifteen just as he had every night the week before and every day since. He’d asked to speak to me after tel ing Lizzie goodbye. He wanted to know when he could see her next, and more specifical y, he wanted a day of his own.
The man had the audacity to ask me for Saturdays.
Saturdays were mine, a day without interruption for my daughter and me, just the two of us. There was no way I’d concede to that.
Instead, I’d given him Friday evenings.
So for the last two months, Christian had shown up at my doorstep every Friday at six to pick Lizzie up and had dropped her off at the same place at eight.
He had two hours. To me, even that was too much. He deserved no time at al .
The worst part of it was how much Lizzie always looked forward to those nights with Christian, how excited she would become as she watched the clock near six. She never questioned whether he would show or not; she expected him to, trusted him to.
And I was left waiting on the sidelines to pick up the pieces when he didn’t.
It sucked.
I loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters, preparing myself to face Christian. Just those few minutes at my stoop exchanging “our” daughter were excruciating.
Two minutes later, the doorbel rang.
Taking a deep breath, I dried my hands and tossed the hand towel aside, wending my way to the front door.
Glancing through the peephole, I unlocked the door and swung it wide to Lizzie and Christian standing on the stoop.
“Hi, Mommy.” Lizzie grinned up at me, her hair in pigtails and her eyes alive. She clutched her dol to her side, that outrageous toy that must have cost a fortune, the one she never went anywhere without.
“Hi, sweetheart.” I smiled down at her, refusing to begrudge the joy my daughter found in her father. “Did you have a good time?”
She glanced back at Christian and smiled wide before looking back at me and nodding. “Yep. Daddy took me to the park, and we had a picnic.”
I covered my grimace and forced out, “That sounds like fun, honey.” My eyes flitted to Christian. His hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of his slacks, his tie discarded, the first two buttons of his white dress shirt undone. His hair that had been styled when he’d shown up at my house earlier was now in disarray, locks of hair obscuring the vibrant blue of one of his eyes.
He was gorgeous. And I hated him for it.
I turned my attention back to Lizzie, gesturing to her father with my head. “It’s time to tel your dad goodnight, Lizzie.”
Her face fel along with my heart. It was agonizing, watching her tel Christian goodbye, how she clung to him, their whispered words of love and promises of how they would miss each other until they saw each other again.
Christian kissed her on the head once more before releasing his hold on her and nudging her toward the door.
“Goodnight, my princess.”
“Night, Daddy.”
I closed my eyes, wishing I didn’t have to witness this.
“Lizzie, go on upstairs. I’l be there in a minute to get your bath started.”
“Okay, Momma.” Lizzie mounted the stairs as Christian and I watched her go, and then I slowly turned back to him. This part always felt so awkward, especial y in light of the declaration he’d made on Lizzie’s birthday. I’d known what he meant, his intention.
He wanted me back.
I had spent a fleeting moment fantasizing about being in his arms again before my rational side had screamed at me for being a fool, and I had demanded that he leave my house. He’d never stepped inside since.
“Goodnight, Christian.” In his case, I’d given myself over to feigned pleasantries.
He stared at his feet before looking back at me as he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his I hadn’t forgotten. “Listen, Elizabeth . . .”
I braced myself. This was it. My mind raced with what I would tel my daughter, how I would comfort her.
He scratched the back of his head, shuffling his feet before he grimaced and said in a rushed voice, “I need a favor.”
I scowled, sitting back on my heels and crossing my arms. He wasn’t leaving. He was asking for more. Damn him.
“What?”
He released a heavy breath from his nose, his expression hopeful. “My mother is coming into town next weekend, and I was hoping we could take Lizzie to Sea weekend, and I was hoping we could take Lizzie to Sea World on Saturday?”
I shook my head. “You know Saturday is my day with Lizzie, Christian. Why can’t you take her during the week?” As if I would make concessions for his mother, that shal ow, pretentious woman who’d done no more than look down her nose at me. And God knew Christian could afford to take the day off.
“Because my mom isn’t getting in until late Friday night, and she has to leave Sunday to get back to work. It’s the only day we can go,” he explained as if it made complete sense where it made none.
That woman had never worked a day in her life. I didn’t realize I was frowning in confusion until Christian spoke.
“Yes, Elizabeth, my mother works,” he said sounding mildly irritated. “She and my father divorced five years ago.”
“Real y?” I asked, surprised. The question had escaped me before I could reel it in. I don’t care about him or what his family does, I reminded myself. But real y, I was a little curious. Claire Davison working? The woman who put on airs, who walked around as if her social life were the most important thing in the world. The thought was comical.
Christian chuckled, his eyes glinting amusement.
“Shocking, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Why I answered, I didn’t know.
His voice softened. “She’s not who you think she is, Elizabeth.”
I shook my head wishing to divert the line of conversation that drew me into his personal life, getting back to what mattered—the precious time I had to spend with my daughter. “Saturdays are mine, Christian.” The words were soft, but firm.
He sighed and for a moment looked away before his eyes darted back at me, determined. “Come with us.” What? I couldn’t imagine anything as tortuous as spending an entire day with him and his mother.
He took a step forward, dipping his head to capture my gaze. “Please, Elizabeth.” My heart sped with his nearness, the warmth of his presence washing over my face and through my chest to where it settled somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
Dangerous.
“Um . . . I . . .” I fumbled over the words, searching for an excuse.
“Please, Elizabeth. Just one day.” His voice dropped lower as he begged, “Please . . . come.” The intensity of his eyes shattered my resolve. “Fine.” Gratitude fil ed his face, his mouth quirking into a smal , satisfied smile. “Thank-you.” His face was so beautiful and appeared so sincere. I wished I could believe it.
In an attempt to resurrect the wal between us, I stepped back and away from the claws that I felt him slowly, steadily sinking into my skin. I whispered, “Just this once.” His smile didn’t falter. “Okay then, I’l pick you two up at nine next Saturday.”
Pursing my lips, I nodded once before I shut the door and shut him out.
I turned to find Lizzie’s face pressed through two bars of railing at the top of the stairs, her smile unending.
Closing my eyes, I shook my head, wondering what I had just done.
Lizzie sat on her knees in a pink T-shirt and denim shorts, her feet in white sandals, watching out the front window. Her smal backpack was secured over her shoulders, her dol secured in the crook of her arm. She had been there for almost a half an hour, and it wasn’
t even eight thirty yet.
She’d woken me before dawn by jumping on my bed, yel ing in excitement for me to get up. I’d buried my face deeper in my pil ow, loath to face the day.
Christian had picked her up yesterday evening at six just the same as always, only this time Lizzie accompanied him to the airport so she could meet her Grammy. That’s what Lizzie had cal ed her. She went on about the woman for more than an hour after Christian had dropped her off at my door wel after nine thirty last night.
Grammy.
The woman who had never shown any interest in Lizzie, had never cal ed, had never once tried to contact us.
Grammy.
It was enough to make me see red.
Dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, I stepped into a pair of flip-flops and pul ed my hair into a messy ponytail, then stuffed a towel, sunscreen, and sweatshirts into my backpack. Lizzie loved Sea World, and we’d been enough times to know she’d get wet and cold.
“Al ready, Mommy?” Lizzie looked back at me from where she was perched on the floor, her smal body buzzing with anticipation.
I forced myself to smile back. “Yes, baby. I’m al ready.” As much as I dreaded this day, I would never let Lizzie know it.
I flitted around the house, straightening up in an attempt to thwart the panic setting in. How will I get through a day with Christian . . . and his mother? She’d always disliked me. The few times we’d met she’d never said much, offering no more than a cool hel o, though her calculating eyes had watched. I could only assume the horrible things she thought about me, things Christian’s father had never hesitated to say aloud. Gold Digger, Richard had cal ed me, and she’d never disagreed. It had hurt. The only thing I’d ever wanted from Christian was his love, his commitment, but never his money.
Jumping up, Lizzie squealed, “Daddy’s here!” She struggled to reach the lock, unlatching it just as the doorbel rang. She threw herself into Christian’s open arms, and he scooped her up.
“Good morning, baby girl.” He looked over her shoulder at me as he hugged her close. “Good morning, Elizabeth.”
“Good morning,” I mumbled as I grabbed my backpack and purse and headed toward the door. Christian put Lizzie back on her feet and took her hand.