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“Seven.”
Chelsea perked up. “Oh, my goodness, my nephew’s eight. I love that age,” she gushed.
Redmond couldn’t help the smile that peaked at his lips. “She’s fun to be around.”
Chelsea leaned into the table. “I imagine. What does she do? Is she an athlete, a dancer, a reader?”
“She loves plants. In the summers—” His phone’s ringtone cut him off, and he reached for it on instinct, looking at the caller ID and standing. “Sorry, it’s Kait’s mom.”
Chelsea shooed him away. “Go take it,” she insisted.
Once he was a few steps away from the table, he answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, Red. Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious,” Courtney started. Redmond could hear the distinct sound of one of Kaitlyn’s rare breakdowns in the background. “But Kait really wants to stay with you tonight.”
Redmond was always happy to have Kaitlyn stay, but right now wasn’t a great time. “I can swing by and pick her up later.”
“No, I’ve been trying to tell her that you’re busy until later and she freaks out. She won’t tell me what’s wrong, but she won’t stop until she sees you. It’s probably nothing. You know how she sometimes gets like this. But—”
“I’m on my way.”
Courtney sighed on the other end of the line. “Thanks, Red. We can always count on you.”
Redmond hung up the phone and strode back to the table, where the server was taking Chelsea’s order. His heart sunk a bit as he realized he’d have to stand her up, but for his daughter, he’d do anything.
“Hey, I’ve got to cut this short,” he told her, tucking his phone into his pocket and remaining standing.
Chelsea looked concerned. “Is your daughter okay?”
“She’s fine. She has meltdowns sometimes, and she needs me there. Courtney—my ex-wife—can’t get her to calm down, so I need to go.”
Chelsea looked taken aback. “That might be the most words you’ve ever spoken at one time.” She stood with the help of her crutches and pulled a wallet out of her purse, leaving a twenty on the table and directing her attention toward the server. “This should cover the drinks and your tip. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”
Redmond started walking toward the door, and Chelsea followed. He hoped she understood that he didn’t plan to take her with him.
Once they exited the restaurant, she turned to him.
“You can’t come with me,” he told her.
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
He felt a sense of relief at her words, and for the first time, he had a desire to explain himself to her. She’d been nothing but kind all dinner, and he’d been rude since the moment they’d met.
“I don’t bring new people into my daughter’s life unless I’m sure they plan on sticking around,” he said.
“I expected nothing less. Good luck with your daughter, and I truly do wish you the best.” She supported her weight on her good ankle as she handed him her card. “My number, just in case you’d like to reschedule.”
With her close to him, he could smell the distinct cinnamon and vanilla scent of her. Alluring. He bent his head, and before he could think otherwise, he brushed his lips across hers. Soft. Gentle. She allowed her lips to meld into his as he wrapped a single arm around her waist to subconsciously balance her unsteady posture.
When she pulled away, red-cheeked and breathless, a small chuckle escaped her lips.
“I’d really like to reschedule if it’s all the same to you,” she whispered. She turned and crutched herself in the opposite direction.
After that kiss, Redmond was indeepshit.
5
After a second week of sifting through submissions and asking for a dozen or more full manuscripts, she thought she’d finally found the one she would be willing to represent. The manuscript was phenomenal. The man, upon a background check, appeared to do more public service than work, and his correspondences were always quite well-written.
