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My friend had apparently softened this woman. But obviously giving each other a hard time was still a must.
“Marlow.” I lifted my chin. “This is JoJo.” I motioned toward the woman who had me turned inside out. “And my daughter, Penelope.”
“I heard you were a father. Which will only make you more sympathetic to him.” She pointed her thumb at Whitley with a scowl, then beckoned my girls toward the kitchen. “You look like you need wine. And I can’t have any.” She scowled at Whitley again.
He beamed. “I plan to keep it that way.”
“Can you two stop flirting? Read that.” I snatched the letter from Whitley’s hand and shook it in his face.
“I’ll bring the wine to your study,” Marlow said. “What kind of pizza do you like?”
“The crappy kind with no meat,” I muttered.
JoJo cut her eyes at me.
“What?” I lifted my hands. “You do.”
“You have to put up with more than I do,” Marlow said sympathetically.
Blake hustled up to Penelope and held up a hand. “Friend.”
Her brows furrowed, but she high-fived him. “Friend,” she repeated.
He grabbed her fingers and dragged her toward Whitley’s office. We followed and found them by the window, where Blake stared out.
Whitley’s expression softened at the sight.
I’d missed those growing-up moments with Penelope. I’d never see them through more than pictures. A pang of hurt and loss hit me square in the chest.
JoJo took my hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Me too,” Whitley said.
They both knew what I’d missed out on, but JoJo bore responsibility for my loss.
A hint of anger punched up to the surface.Could I ever stop blaming her? Should I stop?
Unequivocally yes.
I’d seen the toxicity JoJo protected Penelope from. Because my ex-wife had poisoned JoJo’s opinion of me. And JoJo had simply protected my child. And raised an incredible person on her own.
We had more immediate problems to figure out. I dropped behind Whitley’s desk.
He rolled his eyes and went to the sitting area by the window. “Whatcha see, Little Dude?”
“Cars!” Blake said, smacking his hand against the glass. It was littered with prints.
Penelope took the chair near Whitley, while JoJo sat at the desk opposite me. I could barely afford more than a glance in her direction as my anger threatened again.
Marlow came in with a bottle of wine, a bottle of whiskey, and a stack of plastic cups. She set the whiskey in front of me and offered a cup.
“Actually, I’d prefer tea if you have it.”
She blinked at me as if I’d sprouted another head. “Being a father has changed you.”
“I’d love some tea too if it’s not too much trouble,” JoJo said kindly.
“I’ll go put on a kettle.”
