His hands tremble when he accepts the glass of milk I'm holding out for him. “Four, turning five.”
Even under the awkward circumstances of our meeting, a grin tugs my lips high when his sip of milk leaves a milk mustache on his top lip. I turn toward the oven when the timer dings, announcing the baked treats Harlow supplied me with for our brunch are ready.
Jeremiah’s eyes bulge when I say, “The cookies are ready.” I remove the three trays of baked goods to cool before placing four M&M cookies onto a white porcelain plate. “They need to cool a little.”
He licks his lips while nodding his cute little head. My ears prick when Theresa’s raised voice bellows into the kitchen. I’m not surprised when I don’t hear Isaac’s response. It’s his low, calm voice that causes the most quivering response from me. That’s when I know I'm in the most trouble. If his tone is low, that’s when he's the most furious.
My eyes sling back to Jeremiah when he asks, “Is my daddy mad at my mommy?”
My heart clutches when I see tears welling in his eyes. “No, sweetheart. No one is angry. It’s Christmas. Even the Grinch grows a heart Christmas morning.”
“And Mr. Scrooge,” he chimes in.
I giggle. “And Mr. Scrooge.”
I check the temperature of the cookies, ensuring they're cool before handing one to Jeremiah. All the moisture in his eyes disappears when he munches on the cookie while sipping his glass of milk. As he fills his hungry tummy, I run my eyes over his face, searching for any similarities between him and Isaac. The cleft chin is the biggest indication that Isaac could be his father, but Isaac is sterile, so that places Theresa’s claims of paternity into doubt.
A short time later, Theresa enters the kitchen. She’s as obnoxious as ever. “It’s time to go, Jeremiah.”
Nodding, he locks his big blue eyes with me. “Thank you for the cookie, Isabelle.” I smile from the way he stumbles out my name.
“You’re very welcome.”
When I help him down from the counter, the stranglehold on my heart intensifies when he wraps his arms around my legs to hug me tight. “Merry Christmas.”
Before I can return his embrace, Theresa yanks him away from me. My already faltering heart almost breaks when he stares up at Isaac, begging for a snippet of his attention. It does break when Isaac fails to respond to his silent pleas.
When our front door slams shut, my eyes drift to Isaac, who is leaning in the doorway of the kitchen. He's dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, but his standoff demeanor makes the visual not as glorious.
“He's very cute and well-mannered—”
“He isn’t my son, Isabelle, and encouraging him to believe any different will only hurt him in the long run.”
Obviously, my face is showing my pain for Jeremiah.
“Are you sure he isn’t yours?”
Isaac pushes off the doorjamb and strides toward me. His steps are fast and efficient, and they have my pulse quickening. After sitting me on the countertop Jeremiah was sitting on mere minutes ago, he nudges my thighs apart so he can stand between my legs.
“He isn’t my son,” he repeats, his tone nothing but honest. “I had my procedure six years ago, and he isn’t even five. I never had sex without protection, even knowing I’m sterile. The timeframe is wrong for the time I slept with Theresa. Our…affairended in March, he was born in February.”
“Then why is she telling him you're his father? That isn’t fair to him. All he wants is the attention of his dad.”
“Because she knows I won’t fight her paternity claims.”
My brows furrow. “Why wouldn’t you fight them?”
“Because I’d have to give her my DNA.”
My brows furrow even tighter. “Yeah… so?”
He slants his head before cocking his brow. “Give my DNA to one of the most corrupt police officers in the country? Not only would she have it for any criminal activities she wanted to pin on me, but I also have no doubt she’d forge the tests to make it look like I’m Jeremiah’s father.”
He has a valid point. She didn’t even have my DNA, yet she still had me charged with murder.
“Is Jeremiah the reason she got fired from the police force?”
“No.” He halfheartedly shrugs. “Not exactly.”
