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Perturbed but undeterred, he continues. “As I was saying, Beckett gave me a short list of architecture firms with better reputations than that Italian design house, so I’ve been going through them and…”
I wonder if Lily’s ever been to Italy. She’d love it. All the food and wine and sex…I sigh. The thought of her on a topless beach, a glass of wine in hand, just relaxing as the waves nip at her toes…I have to stop these fantasies.
She is a professional. It’s not her that I’m hooked on—it’s the fact that she’s doing such a great job with the kids that I don’t have to worry about them as much as I used to, and the relief is making my brain think it’s more than that. My unwound mind doesn’t know what to do with itself.
With the other nannies, it was impossible to relax. I kept waiting for the phone call to tell me she was quitting or there was an accident or both. Kept waiting for the other shoe to fall, all day, every day, and that made it impossible for me to focus at work or on anything else. And forget dating under those circumstances. I do not know how Abigail managed.
Whatever the case, Lily and I should not have kissed last night. No matter how good yesterday felt.
It was wonderful. Every detail simply fits. We moved together like a cohesive unit with the kids, even when we were just having fun.
Especially then.
There was no bickering, no uncomfortable silences. No things left unsaid between us, and no stifling pressures. Just a pair of adults taking care of a pair of kids and enjoying each other’s company. Like a normal family.
She is not family, Cormac. She’s the help. You’ve crossed enough lines already. If you keep going on like this, you’ll screw everything up. Stop it.
“Seriously, stop it.”
I blink back to reality. “Stop what?”
“Stop pretending to be here when you’re not.”
“You sound like Abigail.”
Beau makes a face at me for that one. “Too far, man. That was too far. You know how I feel about your ex-wife.”
“You hate her,” I huff, “and I’ve never understood why exactly, whenIdon’t hate her, andI’mthe one who divorced her.”
“I hate her because she was never good enough for you.”
“Solidarity, then?”
“Something like that.”
I sigh. “Beau, you don’t need to hate Abigail. We’re not bitter exes. Things just didn’t work out.”
“And if she had tried harder—
“No,” I tell him sharply. “Sometimes things don’t work out. That doesn’t mean you hold it against anyone. Abigail is a great mom to my kids. Don’t forget that.”
He huffs. “I’ll give her that. Sheisa great mom. And a good listener, which is more than I can say for her ex-husband.”
“What now? I was listening.”
“Then what do you think of Beckett’s idea?”
Our little brother—who hated when I called him that—usually had great ideas, and being our company’s general contractor, he knew the business. So, I said, “He’s probably right.”
“But that firm costs twice as much as everyone else.”
Shit. I sigh. “So, get more estimates—
“I have gone to every firm worth going to, Cormac. All butthem.”
“Why not them?”
“You mean, besides the expense?”
