Cold Welcome
Cassidy
“I’m not taking him.” I cross my arms and lean back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, glaring at the social worker across from me like she’s personally responsible for ruining my vacation plans. “I thought I made that clear when you called two weeks ago.”
Ms. Rodrigue, a tired-looking woman in her fifties with kind eyes that I refuse to let affect me, adjusts her glasses and glances down at the file spread across her desk. “Ms. Morgan, I understand your reluctance, but—”
“Do you?” I interrupt, my voice taking on that crisp, professional tone I use when people try to argue with me about their overdue library books. “Because I explicitly told your office that I wanted nothing to do with my sister’s mess. Nothing. I have a flight to Jamaica in three hours, and I’m not missing it for this.”
I check my watch for the third time in as many minutes. My luggage from this morning’s flight from Georgia sits waiting inthe taxi outside. A suitcase and carry-on filled with sundresses and swimwear for a vacation I’m increasingly anxious to begin.
By now, Desiree, my best friend, should be en route to the airport, having dropped her daughter Bella with her father, Enrick Hughes, for the holidays. We’d carefully coordinated our travel plans: flying together from Atlanta to Winter Bay, handling our respective business here, then continuing to Jamaica for a much-needed escape.
This year had been particularly complicated for Desiree after her daughter’s nanny, Ms. Okeke, broke her hip, forcing Desiree to personally escort Bella rather than relying on their usual arrangement.
Once I finish here, the taxi will whisk me to the airport, where a plane awaits to carry us to white sand beaches and rum punches. Far from this godforsaken town and all the painful memories it contains. Though with the wind increasingly howling against the windows, I’m beginning to worry about potential flight delays.
“Ms. Morgan,” Ms. Rodrigue tries again. “Britney passed away ten days ago, and Axel has been staying with an emergency foster since then. The family is traveling for the holidays and unable to keep him longer. There’s a guardianship hearing scheduled for December 27th. Your sister named you as Axel’s guardian in her will. You and—”
The office door opens, and every molecule of oxygen gets sucked out of the room.
Ethan Whitmore walks in like he owns the place, wrapped in an expensive gray suit. The boy who moved to Winter Bay from L.A. at fifteen with nothing but grief and a suitcase has clearly done well for himself.
His dark hair is shorter than it used to be, styled in that effortlessly tousled way. But those steel-gray eyes, once full of love, are cold as winter when they land on me.
My heart slams against my ribcage so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. It’s been eight years since I’ve seen him, and my body apparently didn’t get the memo that I hate him.
Heat crawls up my neck as I take in the sharp line of his jaw, the way his suit jacket stretches across shoulders that are somehow broader than I remember.
Even furious and obviously as thrilled to be here as I am, Ethan Whitmore is still the most devastatingly attractive man I’ve ever seen. Which only makes me angrier.
“Well, well,” I say, my voice dripping with false sweetness. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
His jaw ticks. “Always a pleasure, Cassidy. Still as warm and welcoming as ever, I see.”
The sarcasm in his voice is unmistakable, but there’s something wounded too. I shove the soft feelings down hard. He lost the right to my sympathy the morning I found him in bed with my sister.
“Mr. Whitmore,” Ms. Rodrigue says, standing and extending her hand. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Ethan shakes her hand. Everything about him screams success. From the expensive watch on his wrist to the confident way he carries himself.
Information security management has been good to him, apparently. I’d heard through mutual acquaintances that he’d remained in California after I transferred schools and left the State.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he says, not bothering to sit down. “I’m only here because your office said I was named in the will. But I’m not taking the kid. Find someone else.”
The cruelty in his voice makes me flinch. This is the man I used to love? The man I thought I’d marry someday? The same person who understood the pain of me losing my mother betterthan anyone after losing his parents, too? Looking at him now, I can barely remember what I saw in him.
Except for the way my pulse jumps when he shifts and his jacket falls open, revealing the lean line of his torso. Except for the way his presence fills the small office, making the air feel charged. Except for the way I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from remembering how those hands used to feel on my skin.
Ugh, I hate myself.
“Both of you were named as co-guardians,” Ms. Rodrigue says, settling back into her chair. “Britney was very specific in her wishes.”
Her name alone stirs a corrosive mix of feelings. To understand Britney, you have to understand her mother.
My stepmother, Eleanor, raised us in a state of constant competition. I was the benchmark, and Britney was the contender.
Growing up, she always wanted what was mine. If I had a toy, she wanted it. If I made a friend, she had to be their favorite. And when I found the love of my life…
