“Can Mommy stay? Please?” She’s bouncing on her toes, looking between us with those big hopeful eyes that neither of us can resist.
He glances up at me, still crouched at Bella’s level. “If your mom’s okay with it.”
The way he’s looking at me—like he already knows I have nowhere else to go—combined with how he’s holding our daughter’s hand, the gentleness in his voice... this is what I’m afraid of. Not that he’s the same man who rejected us, but that he’s different. Better. That he’s become the man I needed him to be six years too late.
“That’s really sweet, B, but let’s see how things go, okay?”
Enrick rises, eyes steady on mine. “Welcome home, Desiree,” he says softly.
Outside, snow whirls against the windows, sealing us in. And I know—I know—I’m in so much trouble.
Glitter, Guilt, and Gravity
Enrick
Desiree’s pacing the living room like a caged panther, phone pressed to her ear, and I can’t stop watching. The twinkling lights from our massive Fraser fir catch in her burgundy braids with each agitated pass.
Six years of avoidance, and now Desiree Reynolds is standing in my brother’s house three days before Christmas, wearing jeans that should come with a warning label.
I should be reviewing flood-gate schematics for the Winter Bay Waterfront Redevelopment instead of staring like a lovesick idiot. Being Chief Design Engineer at my brother’s firm means duty never stops, but right now, work has nothing on Desiree in motion.
“Yes, I understand you’re full,” she says into the phone. “You don’t have anything? Not even a shed? What about a supply closet? I’ve stayed in worse.” Her free hand slices the air in frustration. “Seriously? Not even that?”
I should feel guilty about the satisfaction that floods me. I don’t. Not when I’ve hoped for a chance to fix what’s broken between Desiree and me.
“Enrick, stop staring at the poor girl and help me cut more of these snowflake stencils,” Gina calls from the kitchen, laughter bubbling under her words. My sister-in-law has been trying to get details about Bella’s mother for years, and now that Desiree’s here in the flesh, Gina’s glowing with delight. “The kids are fighting over the few we have, and someone’s going to end up crying.”
“In a minute,” I mutter, unable to look away as Desiree ends her call and immediately starts scrolling through her phone again.
“That’s what you said ten minutes ago,” Maverick observes from his spot by the fireplace. “Just go talk to her.”
Easy for him to say. He didn’t spend five years regretting the words and actions that drove away the only woman he ever let close. The only woman he’d ever been with, period. He didn’t lie awake replaying every moment, wondering if he’d handled things differently...
If I hadn’t let Maverick’s experience with Penelope’s mother—his ex-wife who’d use their daughter as leverage for money—poison me against Desiree. If I hadn’t assumed Desiree was just another woman after my money.
Holy hell, I’d been such an idiot.
“Daddy, come see what I made!” Bella races over, holding up a wooden ornament covered in white paint and glitter. “It’s you!”
“It’s perfect, princess.” I scoop her up, grateful for the distraction. She smells like the macadamia-and-honey shampoo Desiree uses on her hair.
“See? This is your smile, and this glitter is because you’re sparkly when you’re happy.” She points to various paint blobs with proud precision. “And I made it white like your skin!”
My throat tightens. “I love it. Should we hang it on your bedroom tree when you go to bed tonight?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes! But first...” She grows suddenly serious. “I need to make one of Mommy too. So I have both of you.” She squirms down. “I need the brown paint for her skin.”
Then she charges back to the dining room where the other kids are busy proving why Gina was smart enough to cover the table in plastic.
When I turn back, Desiree’s watching us, her expression unreadable. The gray winter light dulls everything around her, yet somehow catches the gold undertones in her deep brown skin, highlights the curve of her cheekbones and the fullness of her lips.
Holy hell, she’s even more beautiful than I remember. Softer in some ways, stronger in others. There’s self-assurance in the way she stands now, a steadiness that wasn’t there six years ago.
Motherhood looks good on her.
Life without me looks good on her.
The thought twists like a knife.
