Fuck. This was a different Laire.
And part of him was fucking grateful for that, because he wanted her—he wanted her bad, hard, and as soon as possible—but part of him hated it. Who had she been with since him that had given her this new confidence? It slayed him to even wonder.
“I’m sure that could be arranged,” he’d said, leaning forward to press a kiss to her chest, just above the edge of her shirt, on the soft, warm skin over her breasts.
“Then arrange it,” she’d whispered as her fingers threaded through his hair, keeping his head tilted down and his lips pressed against her skin.
First thing this morning, he’d called down to the front desk and asked for room 206 which was, blessedly, available. He’d be moving as soon as he packed up his belongings. It was only when Kelsey had asked how many nights he’d need the room that a sudden wave of panic washed over him. Today was December 31. He needed to be back at work in Raleigh on January 3. Which meant leaving Laire in two days.
He’d muttered his response to Kelsey, then hung up the phone, his brows knitted, his good mood souring.
First of all, after waiting years to reconnect with Laire, he wasn’t interested in leaving her again so soon. Not to mention, he didn’t like the message it would send her. For years she had thought him a cheater. He wanted time with her to solidify the fact that he wasn’t. Also, he didn’t particularly like his job so he wasn’t exactly returning to a career he loved. He’d been managing his father’s law firm for the past three years, but it was dry, boring public policy work that had never truly interested him. And now? Balanced against spending time with Laire? It felt almost unbearable.
He didn’t want to leave her.
But he had fifteen employees—his father’s partner, who mostly looked to Erik to run things, three other junior attorneys, paralegals, and office staff—waiting for him to return. He couldn’t just ignore that commitment either.
Grumbling with annoyance, he slipped out of bed and stretched, rolling his neck and padding to the bathroom in bare feet. First he was going to shower, then pack, then move downstairs, then meet Laire and Ava Grace for breakfast. He had two more days with them before he had to leave. He wouldn’t spoil them ruminating about his job when he’d have to return to Raleigh soon enough.
An hour later, he was sitting beside Ava Grace in the bright dining room with Laire across from them.
“Ava Grace,” asked Erik after Kelsey had taken their order, “what grade are you in?”
“Kindergarten,” she answered. “But a different one.”
“A different one? What do you mean?” asked Erik, looking up at Laire, who was stirring creamer into her coffee.
“We just moved here,” said Ava Grace.
“What?” asked Erik. When he’d checked in, Shaw Leatham had mentioned a mother-daughter pair who had a place in Hatteras. That was Laire and Ava Grace, right? He certainly hadn’t seen another mother-daughter pair at the inn. “You live in Hatteras.”
“Now we do,” said Ava Grace. “Or sorta we live here. In this hotel. Right, Mama?”
Laire looked up from her coffee. “We just moved here from Boone.”
“Boone?” asked Erik, his mouth dropping open.
Boone was on the other side of North Carolina! It was about as far northwest as you could go and still remain in the state. All this time he assumed she’d lived here, in Hatteras, on the Banks, near her family. When had she gone to Boone? And for how long?
“Laire, when did you—”
“Boone.” Ava Grace nodded. “That’s where Nana lived. Afore she died.”
“Nana,” said Erik, scrambling to figure out who Nana was. Laire’s mother had died when she was a child, so Nana must be the mother of Ava Grace’s father.
“Uh-huh.”
“Is that where your daddy lives? In Boone?” he asked Ava Grace, shifting in his chair to face the little girl. Since he and Laire had found each other again, she’d been reluctant to talk about Ava Grace’s father. Maybe this way he’d get some answers.
“Nope. Boone’s where Uncle Pat and Aunt Sam live.”
Pat and Sam. Hm. Her father’s siblings, maybe?
“My daddy’s a prince,” said Ava Grace matter-of-factly, pulling her juice to the edge of the table and sipping from the straw.
“A prince,” he repeated dumbly, shifting his eyes to Laire and waiting until she looked up from her coffee. When she did, her face betrayed nothing. She just stared back at him, her sea-green eyes concealing whatever was going on in her head. Frustrating.
“What kind of prince?”
“Dark-haired,” said Ava Grace.
“What else?”
She shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Sure you do. He’s your dad,” said Erik.
“That’s enough,” said Laire, her voice holding a warning.