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Scooting closer, Kat wrapped an arm around her. “We won’t let anyone take Izzy from you,” she said fiercely. “Everyone knows what a wonderful mum you are. We’ve got your back, okay?”
Bex wished that were enough. “Love you, Kitty-Kat.”
“Love you back, Bexi-Babe.”
That made her laugh. “Dork.”
Releasing her, Kat leaned back and studied her face. “You going to be okay tonight?”
Bex glanced over at her own personal miracle. Her tiny, mouthy miracle, with miniature fingers that were busy with a yellow pen, and the world’s smallest feet, which were even now waving back and forth in the air above her as she lay on her belly. A wave of contentedness washed over her, the way it always did when she paused to appreciate how adorable her baby was.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll be okay.” For as long as she had Izzy, she could handle anything.
Michael hovered outside The Hideaway,which doubled as a gym and art studio. He hadn’t seen Bex today—according to her schedule, she didn’t work Tuesdays or Thursdays at the school—but he knew that avoiding her was impossible. Or at the very least, impractical. It would be ridiculous to join a gym half an hour away just to keep a healthy distance between them. The past was the past, and surely they could get along.
With a final glance around to make sure no one was watching him behave like an idiot, he sucked up his courage, prayed his tongue would work better this time around, and entered. Inside the foyer, a flight of stairs ascended to the gym, and he climbed it, wondering whose brilliant idea it had been to put the gym on the second story. He opened a door and found the area spacious and airy, exactly as he’d expected of Bex. The weights occupied one end, rows of machines and other equipment were down the center—most in use by patrons—and a painting station was set up closest to the ocean.
He studied the painting from where he was standing. A beach scene, but not your standard blue-sky affair. Gray brushstrokes formed clouds, and the waves below were capped with white. A lone man on a surfboard dared to venture into the water. The shore was deserted, except for an old lady reading a book. For some reason, the lonely scene moved him. He walked closer.
“Careful,” a voice called. “The paint is wet.”
“I can tell,” he replied, turning to find Bex sitting at a desk. “It reeks.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nothing wrong with the scent of paint, as long as you don’t sniff it too much.”
With a final glance at the painting, he headed for the desk. “I’d like to sign up.”
Dismay flashed through her eyes, her chin dipped, and for a moment, he thought she’d refuse him membership—although God knew how she could legally do so. “I don’t suppose you’ve let yourself go yet, huh?”
He frowned. “Pardon?”
She shook her head and shuffled papers in the top desk drawer. She extracted two and handed them to him. “One of these is the membership agreement. You pay on a monthly basis. The other is for your bank details so I can set up a direct debit.”
She passed a pen over. Michael paused before filling in the paperwork to scan the interior of the gym. While it may be unconventional, it worked. Paintings hung on the walls—high enough that they couldn’t be damaged—and there was a prime view through the window over the beach. Had she stood in that window and watched the lone surfer she’d painted?
The roof was a work of art, with a mural of famous icons painted across it. Usain Bolt on the treadmill, Dwayne Johnson at the bench press, Serena Williams using the squat bar.
Despite himself, he laughed. “Only you could make an art studio and a gym seem like two things that belong together and pull it off with such flair.”
She frowned, apparently uncertain whether he was complimenting her. “Thank you.”
He completed the form, added the date, and signed with a flourish. He was checking his bank details when the door swung open and a little girl ran up to them, a halo of dark hair dancing around her shoulders. She tilted her pointy chin, wearing the kind of mischievous smile he’d always associated with Bex. His heartbeat quickened, as the rest of him stilled.
Oh my God, could it be…?
“Mummy,” she called, and he looked over his shoulder, confirming Bex was the only woman in the gym. The girl said something else, but he couldn’t hear her past the rushing of blood in his ears. Then she added, “I’m done with my coloring. Can I watch Disney?”
Bex rushed to her side and ushered her toward the door. “Of course, sweetheart. Just don’t forget to fold the laundry while you do.”
The girl sighed, her tiny shoulders heaving. “Okay.”
Then she was gone, shut safely downstairs. Bex ducked her head and strode to one of the weight machines, avoiding him. He did the math. The little girl had looked to be about four, but now that he thought about it, he recalled seeing her at school, standing with Shane Walker and clad in uniform, so she must be at least five.
Five. Bex had been pregnant with his brother’s baby less than six years ago. He tried to recall whether he’d seen any of Wesley in the girl’s face, but everything had happened so quickly, he couldn’t be certain.
He strode over to her. “Is she your daughter?” he asked quietly.
“Obviously.” Bex stopped wiping down exercise gear and met his gaze with her own. Her hostility hit him like a wall. He was struck by the urge to scramble out of her way and not ask any more questions, but he needed to.
