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My words seem to hit him hard as he jolts back from the power of them. There was something in his delivery that set me off. I hadn’t given credence to the fact he could fight me for his rights to Ainsley until now. It was a suppressed thought that bubbled to the surface in a rather forceful and sensational fashion.
“I’d never. I mean it, Jillian. I’d never take Ainsley from you. I wouldn’t do that to you or to her. I’m not going to steal her and be on the lam, fleeing to a South American country. France, most likely, because I do speak a lick of it.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“I’m kidding.” He places his hands on my arms and gives them a reassuring squeeze. “I know I said and did all the wrong things years ago, but I’m here now. My words mean nothing to you, and I understand that. Let my actions speak volumes. You can trust me.”
“Can I?”
His eyes close in defeat.
My gut tells me I need to keep him at arm’s length, for fear he’ll flake again.
My heart, however, is singing a different tune. It’s looking at the pleading in his eyes and hearing the yearning in his voice.
My brain, however, is making a quick appearance and setting things straight.
“Your place is out of the question,” I state, and his eyes flicker. “That would require a sleepover, and I’m definitely not ready for that.”
“I’ll come to your place.”
“You live three hours away. That’s too late to drive home.”
“That’s for me to worry about,” he says with a reassuring stroke of his hands on my biceps, and I melt into the warmth of his touch but keep my head held high. “Please, Jillian, let me babysit my daughter.”
I want to say no. Alone, he has too many chances to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. My tongue is on the roof of my mouth, ready to utter the dismissal of permission, and yet he’s staring at me with his hopeful, pleading eyes and looking so very desperate.
“You really like saying she’s your daughter, don’t you?”
“Just as much as I’ll eventually love hearing her call me Dad.”
I close my eyes from the dagger-like strike those words have on my soul. “Okay. One step at a time. Something easy. I haven’t been out to dinner with the girls in a long time, and I owe Tara a thank-you dinner for helping out as much as she has. Maybe you can take Ainsley to a movie? I’ll choose a restaurant nearby in case you need me. It would have to be a Thursday because I’m working the next few weekends. And not too late because she has school the next day. If you can rearrange your schedule—”
“I’ll be there. Text me the time and place, and I’m there.” Luke’s devilishly handsome face is smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. “You just made me the happiest man alive.”
Just as we’re about to step on the grass, a loud roar of a fire engine blazes through the park, causing everyone to look at where the telltale sound is coming from. Over near the street closest to my townhouse is a firetruck, and it’s honking loudly even though it’s parking at the foot of the park.
I look around for the fire or possible emergency that could have brought a truck to the quiet streets of Greenwood Village.
Ainsley comes barreling through the crowd of kids and over to where Luke and I are standing.
“You brought your firetruck!” she yelps excitedly.
From his wide smile, I know there’s no emergency to be had.
“That’s not mine, but I made a few calls, and some friends in the neighborhood were able to deliver,” he explains, and she squeals with delight. “You asked for a ride on a firetruck, and I always keep my promises.”
“When I said the chocolate milk was spoiling her, I had no idea what was in store next,” I muse.
Luke lifts Ainsley off the ground. “Come on, Mom. We have a ride to catch. Leave the picnic. I’ll get it later.”
As Luke starts jogging with her in his arms, I find myself smiling.
Smiling can be dangerous.
So can roguish men with firetrucks, chocolate milk, and all the right words to crush a girl’s heart.
eleven
