“You’re so weird, Dad,” she snickers as I squeeze her harder. “Princess-kid . . . just not in front of anyone, okay?” she reiterates.
I sit back on my heels and chuckle, my chest tightening at the sight of her. I’ve been around the world and seen some of the most beautiful places, but nothing compares to seeing her laugh. “Okay, kid. It’s a deal.”
“I’m going to go take a shower before dinner, Mom!” Neena yells to me from the front door as she and Paul enter.
“Hello to you, too!” I yell back.
“Hi, Mom, love you,” she responds before I hear her footsteps as she charges up the stairs.
When Paul enters, he stands in the doorway of the kitchen, frozen. His hair is a bit of a mess and his face has that day-old scruff, the trace of gray lightly lacing through the dark, coarse hair. I hate that he looks sexy even when he looks like shit. It takes me a few seconds to stop staring at him. I guess I’m getting my fill since I fled from him earlier. “You’re cooking?”
“Ha-ha,” I mock dryly. “I can cook.”
He stares at me blankly.
“It’s macaroni casserole,” I grumble. “Any idiot can make it.” Why do I feel the need to explain myself? I can cook, a little. His face lights up with his signature grin, showing all of his stupidly white teeth, and I can’t help smiling a little. He’s laughing at me. “I hate you.”
His laugh fills the room and I feel a rush go through me. The man’s smile is lethal; pair it with his laugh—and it’s game over. Here I am, back in the suck. Falling into the Paul James trap . . . again. “I got an already made rotisserie chicken from the store. Made a salad, too.”
“You’re a regular Betty Crocker,” he quips as he plucks a cucumber off the salad and pops it in his mouth.
“How did it go?”
Paul reaches in the fridge for a beer and sighs. “I didn’t realize how . . . hard it would be to talk about the past like that. Especially to a teenager.”
“Tell me about it,” I chuckle.
“You know, Clara . . .” The way he says my name causes me to look at him. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you when you first got here.”
I’m stunned. I wouldn’t have expected him to say that in a million years.
“I was an asshole.” That either.
“True,” I can’t help adding, to which he owns with a few dips of his head.
“And I should’ve never let the staff disrespect you the way they did.”
I swallow a few times because, damn it, it was hard, and turn back to my casserole. “I managed, and got through it,” I reply. These are the days I hate to think about. I was fresh blood. Starting here was awful, but at the time the alternative—staying in Texas and possibly seeing Kurt with his new family—was far worse.
“I know. And you were right about so much. But I know that had to have sucked. If I had known what happened, why Dennis left you half, it would’ve been—”
“Different?” I sneer, cutting my gaze to him. “Wasn’t it easier to assume I was his mistress or illegitimate daughter?”
“You should have told me,” he replies calmly. “I understand why you didn’t at first, but after we . . . when we were . . .” He pauses.
“You can’t even say it,” I challenge him.
He narrows his brows. “Why are you getting angry? I’m trying to apologize.”
This time I spin toward him and put my hands on my hips. “For what exactly, Paul?” My skin heats as my tone thickens with ridicule. “Being a dick to your new business partner or for running off on me with no rhyme or reason? Or for not loving me? Which is it?”
He runs a hand through his thick, black hair. “I . . . thought you wanted other things.”
“Maybe you should have asked me.” Popping the oven open, I shove the dish inside and slam the door shut.
I spin around intending to stomp out of the kitchen, but he’s here. Right here. I jump, startled, but he quickly grabs me and pulls me to him. His body is still hard, not like it was years ago when he had that blessed gift that is the youth of your twenties, where you look at the gym and have a six-pack, but still, for a man his age, his body is primed. Tracing his fingers up the back of my neck, he fists my hair gently, forcing me to look at him. “Look at me. I fucked up,” he rasps. “I know it. I’ve always known it. But I did love you, and I’ve never stopped. Hate me for leaving. Hate me for being a dick. But don’t hate me because I didn’t love you.”
Then he kisses me. Soft and quick, long enough for his light beard to scratch against the delicate skin of my face, before releasing me. Stumbling back, I hit the counter and hold myself. I’m going to need a minute to process what just happened.
“On another note,” he moves on. “I think Neena might have a little crush on that Mills kid.”
I stare at him. He still loves me? He kissed me. I’m still processing the kiss. What’s he talking about?