Still. Waiting.
Shit.
I guess I’ll be unpacking this disaster at my feet later.
I turn to Mrs. D. “I have to run. Can you watch the kids?”
She frowns. “Oh, I wish I could,” she says apologetically, eyes still fixed on Pix. “But I’ve got to get back. Not right away,” she adds quickly, her reassurance clearly meant for Pix and not me. “A big catering order. My personal recipe. I?—”
“I can watch your children, Evans,” Pix says.
Cue her death glare.
Ah.
It’s obvious she thinks I gave her a fake name. Oh, the irony.
“Harrison Evans,” I correct quickly. “And I have other sitters I can call, so?—”
“We want Princess Luna!” Snooki declares, clinging to her like a koala.
“Can she stay, Dad?” Ollie begs, hands pressed together tightly.
Can my inappropriate one-night stand stay? Loaded question of the century.
I look at Pix. At the way she shifts Snook higher on her hip like it’s perfectly natural.
I can’t let her leave. Not until we talk.
And also, because my children would never forgive me if I did.
“You don’t have somewhere else to be?” I ask tightly. “A late show? An interview? Oprah?”
“Who’s Oprah?” Connor asks.
I shoot him a glare. Blasphemy.
“I’ll have my PA rearrange my schedule,” Pix says sweetly, batting her eyes. “We celebrities are very good at that. But I’ll only stay the night. A hotel has already been arranged, actually.”
I grit my teeth.
A hotel.
Because she wants distance. Because whatever this is between us exists very firmly in the past.
Not that I can fault her for it. I’m not exactly down on one knee.
Still, it lands harder than it should.
All eyes turn to me.
I can’t be the villain. Not today. Not when I’ve been gone all night, and I’m about to ditch them again.
Connor starts angling for selfies.
“Stop,” I bark, pointing at him.
“Just one,” he argues, while Ollie and Snook shout over each other, clamoring for her attention.
