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“She’s a dynamo. Gotta tire her out before bed,” I tell him. “I thought I had at least an extra hour before you came home.”
“You want me to leave and come back?” He stops moving and takes a step away, testing me.
“Don’t you dare. You’re the only one with any hope of catching her.”
“That the only reason you want me to stick around?” His eyes are teasing, and I suck in a breath, stammering for a response. What is he asking me?
He winks and takes off in Fiona’s direction again, calling back to me, “I’ll wrangle my daughter. You order us some takeout, and I’ll meet you back at the house in an hour.”
I start to yell that I’ll cook dinner. He doesn’t need to order food for me like I’m a guest. But as soon as he starts moving, he’s quickly out of earshot, so I turn back toward the house. I’m grateful for the reprieve, but I feel a little bit guilty about sticking around and collecting an extra two hours of pay, plus dinner, when Jackson clearly doesn’t need my help.
Walking slowly back to the house, I realize I’m more tired than I thought. Bodies in motion stay in motion, and I have a feeling that if I sit down, I won’t want to get up.
And then I do exactly the opposite of what I should do. As soon as I’ve called the order in for tacos at a place down the road, I sit down on the couch. Stretching my legs out, I put my feet up on the table and enjoy the few minutes of inertia while I have them. Soon enough, I’ll be back on my feet and shuttling Fiona up for her bath.
Might as well enjoy the quiet moment while I have it. That’s the prevailing thought as my eyes slip shut. Just for a moment. Only a moment.
ChapterSeventeen
Jax
I wasn’t about to wake Ruby last night, not when I found her fast asleep on my couch after working late. Not wanting to disturb her or have her drive home that exhausted, I tucked a pillow beneath her head and put a blanket over her so she’d stay warm.
Now, I creep downstairs like I have cat paws for feet, half expecting to find an empty couch. I slept poorly, listening for signs that Ruby woke up on the couch and bolted out of my house in the middle of the night. Even though I didn’t hear the front door close, I still worried she’d found another way to slip away.
And since I was busy not sleeping well, I took time to continue raking myself over the coals for my behavior the last time she stayed for dinner. I can’t decide the reason I’m mad at myself—for putting us in a position where a kiss felt inevitable or for not kissing her when I had the chance.
When I hit the bottom step, the staircase creaks, groaning like it’s upset for being used at five in the morning. Well, too damn bad. I need to get to my office and see if the loan payment I stumbled on yesterday is really what I think it is—evidence that my father borrowed nearly a billion dollars to buy grapes we shouldn’t need because our production is efficient.
Unless it’s not efficient…but Archer would have said something about that.
If I’m right about what I think I saw, it means one of two things: at best, it’s a mistake, and the money may be sitting in an offshore account; at worst, it means my dad was borrowing money Buttercup can’t repay and buying grapes that will taint our legacy vintages if they’re used to make wine. With his mind slipping, it’s anyone’s guess what he was doing.
When I get to the living room, I see a cascade of copper hair splayed over the pillow on one end of the couch, bare feet propped on the sofa arm opposite. I feel like a voyeur as I creep closer and study her face, long lashes fanned out over the apples of her cheeks, lips a warm pink without a drop of lipstick. She looks peaceful in that way Fiona does when she’s in a deep sleep and oblivious to the vagaries of the waking world. Only in Fiona’s case, she’s mostly oblivious when she’s awake, too, and I hope she retains her youth for as long as possible.
Ruby hasn’t budged from how she was splayed out last night when I came back to the house with Fiona, who begged me to let Ruby “keep dreaming.” I covered her with a blanket, and she slept through our taco dinner. There was no way I was waking her and putting her on the road.
Now, I feel like an asshole for not realizing how damn tired she must be, despite her insistence that she’s built for working two jobs and commuting back and forth. Doesn’t matter how young and energetic a person is—there’s a limit. She reached hers last night, and I was relieved it happened here on my couch instead of on the road.
I pull the blanket over her feet and mull an idea that’s popped into my brain as I move to the kitchen to make us some coffee.
Turning on the dim light over the sink, I keep my movements small and quiet, aware that the sun will come blasting through my kitchen windows and into the living room in less than thirty minutes. Until then, I want to let her sleep.
I pop a pod into the Nespresso machine while a frothing jug whips the milk for a restaurant-grade latte. I know Ruby takes milk in her coffee because I watch her add it when she makes herself a cup each night before she drives home.
Do I know what my siblings take in their coffee? Nope. But they don’t force my heart to run laps around my ribcage like her.
Glancing at her again, I realize that the sight of her bathes my normal workaday morning in a sweet glow I didn’t know I was missing. Even when I was with Fiona’s mom, I never woke up and felt grateful that she was there.
It’s a jarring thought, made more so by the sudden loud grind of the coffee machine as it presses hot water through the pod.
“What? Hey. Hold on… Wait, did I…?” Ruby sits bolt upright on the couch and scrambles for her phone, which I’ve laid on the coffee table beside her.
“It’s five in the morning. Relax. You’re good.”
“Five in the…?” She blinks and tries to open her eyes wider against the heavy strain of exhaustion.
“Morning. You fell asleep on the couch, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
