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“What is the truth about Santa?” Max asks, fear etched in the lines of forehead.
Dad strides in, playing with the band on his wristwatch. “Are you talking about the big red guy?” he asks. “Grandma just put in an order of lavender soap bars for Mrs. Claus.”
“Whoa,” Max says. “That’s pretty neat.”
My work phone goes off and I excuse myself to answer. “Samira Cullen.”
“You forgot your purse at the club,” Declan’s gruff voice comes through the line.
I freeze, not wanting to take this call in front of anyone, let alone Dad and the kids. I hold up a finger toward them—this will only take just a second—then sneak out of the side door. Bruce follows, poking his head through before I can get it closed.
“Mr. Murphy,” I say, walking through the backyard. I clear my throat, trying to force away the smile that wants to break free.
“Ms. Cullen,” he responds, a hint of amusement in his otherwise dry tone.
“You can give it to Saoirse. I’ll see her tomorrow.”
“Don’t you need it sooner?”
“It was a clubbing purse. I think there was only lipstick and cash in it anyway.”
I’d put my ID in Vee’s purse and left my phone in the car. The handbag was simply an accessory, and I have a feeling Declan knows this. Otherwise, he would’ve brought it up the night we stumbled into each other at the opening. No, this was just an excuse to reach out. He’d made it clear he was into me with his brazen attitude of trying to get me to go home with him, even after he knew who I was.
Still, he’s a client’s family member. I can’t cross that line.
Declan grunts through the line, deep and gruff, and I almost feel him in front of me again, the weight of him holding me against the wall.My eyes snap shut. No, don’t go there.
“Just give me your address and I’ll bring it by,” he commands.
A brow raises in defiance. “No?” I say, not sure how he thinks I’d just give him my address.
Despite the silence I’m met with, I can sense his brooding; the scowl on his lips while he contemplates how to respond. “Once is chance, twice was coincidence,” he starts.
Three times is fate.I open my mouth to speak but choke on the air. Or, as James Bond says, “Three times is enemy action.”
He chuckles low enough that I can barely hear him. “So, if we run into each other again, I should assume you’re a hostile?”
I tip my chin with defiance. “If we meet—outside of our connection with Saoirse—for a third time, then we should probably pretend we don’t know each other.”
“The last guy to piss me off is wandering around in a wheelchair. So, yeah. Maybe we just stay acquaintances, doll.”
He clicks off the phone before I can respond, leaving me to speak out into the air. “What the fuck?”
I brush back the stray hairs flying around my face from the wind and push down the fleeting feeling in my stomach. The butterflies of excitement swirl with the churning of bile from anxiety. It’s all too much, and I don’t want to deal with it.
The back door swings open. Bruce barrels from across the yard and right toward the person exiting. I turn, smiling at my dad. “Everything okay, sweetheart?” He stuffs his hands into his pockets, walking with leisure as he approaches me.
I nod. “Yeah. Work thing.” I clear my throat, hating how the lie sounds. Like betrayal.
I tell him everything, yet here I am pushing down the truth of what’s going on with me.
His shoulder brushes against mine. “It’s okay to not be okay, Sammy.”
I blink back the threat of tears. “It’s never gonna be okay, Daddy.”
“Oh, honey.” He sighs and pulls me into his chest. My hand wraps around the collar of his shirt. “You don’t have to be so strong all the time.”
I shake my head. “I’m not strong. I’m falling apart every fucking day, just waiting, hoping, praying that the next time I wake, it’ll be easy. And it’s just never going to be easy again, is it?”
