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Wow.
My heart aches for Nick.
“They were basically abandoned,” I whisper.
“Right. Ward dealt with it by walling himself off. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about people. He was afraid to care about anyone too much, because they might leave him high and dry, until I tamed my beast. Nick, I think he tried to live down his parents’ scandals by creating his own drama. Becoming the center of attention feels like something he can control, even when he can’t.”
Ouch. The poor guy. I shouldn’t be so hard on him, so judgmental.
The foster system sucked, but I’ve never really thought about what it’d be like to have bio parents who flat-out don’t love you. Would that be even worse than no parents?
“Was it that bad? Is he broken for...for life?” I don’t want him to be.
“No. I just think he’s afraid of love, and he will be until someone gives him a good reason not to be. Just like his big brother.” Paige pushes her shades down, as if to say case closed to her psychoanalysis.
We’re silent for a moment, basking in the springtime sun, both of us deep in thought.
“You know the girl on all the gossip blogs? The crazy chick that threw champagne and slapped him when he enlisted me for that crazy fake date night—Carmen what’s-her-face—is she just a psycho ex-girlfriend or what?” I ask, holding my breath.
Paige looks at me and frowns.
“Hmm. I don’t know much about that, unfortunately. That’s one card Nick holds close to his heart, and Ward’s only ever hinted at it a couple of times. I got the impression they were friends who turned into more, then went hot and cold for a while. Like childhood sweethearts or something. They grew up together. Ward did tell me that Nick finally told her to get lost for good around the time Beatrice was in the hospital.”
“...I think Carmen missed the memo,” I say, trying not to let my bitterness show.
“Yeah, she’s been after him again. It’s kinda pathetic. Nick keeps pushing her away and she just keeps feeding the tabloids. I feel bad for both of them.”
“Is he in love with her?” I grind out.
Why? Why do I care so much?
“I—I don’t think so. They both just seem really lost to me.” She’s about to say more, but an alarm chimes softly on her phone. “Oof, there’s my cue. I need to go set up for my class. Do you and Millie want to see my new studio? I’ll help her make a clay pot.”
“Sure! She’ll love that. I left the town car across the street in case somebody needed a last-minute ride. I’ll save you the walk.” I stand up and cup my hands around my mouth. “Amelia Halle! Come here for a surprise.”
She comes skipping over, trips on a half-flattened water bottle, and goes down.
My heart stops.
I make a frantic run for her and I’m closing in when she stands, brushes the gravel off her arms, giggles, and then runs on to meet me.
Millie slams into my leg, and I pick her up.
“Are you okay, Millie?” I ask breathlessly.
“Surpriiise!” she squeals.
Yep. I got lucky. She’s going to be just fine.
“Do you want to make a clay pot today?”
Her little face turns into a ginormous grin. She claps her hands, but one slaps my face before managing to connect with her opposite palm.
I walk over to the bench with Millie on my hip. “Have you met Paige before?”
Millie shakes her head.
Paige stands. “Hi, little lady! We haven’t met, but I’ve heard so much about her. Nick loves her. Ward thinks she’s adorable, and Beatrice wishes she were her own granddaughter.”
“See? You’re a popular girl,” I tell Millie.
Paige steps around me so she can see Millie’s face.
“I’m Paige. What’s your name?” She holds her hand up.
Millie gives her a high five. “Millie. Millie Halle.”
“Millie Halle, do you want to make some art?”
“Yeah!”
I lean back when Millie goes to clap this time and thankfully miss her chubby palms.
Paige plays with Millie in the back seat on the way to her studio. It gives me time to think.
I need to talk to Nick, and I need to say more than the half-hearted crap I texted earlier. Maybe I’ll drop by his place later.
Then again, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.
With my luck, I’d go over to apologize and run smack into a snarling Carmen Seraphina.
Not that it matters.
I don’t care who he dates—or breaks up with ten times over.
As we’re walking into Paige’s studio, my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my purse.
Stand by. I might need a ride later, Nick says.
After a short walk, Paige lets us inside and I bring Millie a booster seat. Paige goes to a cabinet, pulls out a ball of clay, and hands it to her.
With the little artist hard at work, I can respond to Nick’s text. You need a few things but I’m not sure a ride is one of them.
