Clyde scooted to her side. “I’ve flown all this way for your birthday, duckie.” He picked her up, his face turning red in the process. He was such a wimp. Sure, the three-year-old weighed thirty-five pounds, but she wasn’t all that heavy. Kenzi could lift and carry her on her hip all the livelong day.
“So.” Nash bumped her with his arm. “That’s her dad, huh?”
“Don’t get the wrong idea. He’s no more her dad than Chuckles the Clown. I don’t know what his game is, but he’s not here for her.”
“And he’s, uh, your ex-fiancé?”
Kenzi closed her eyes, wishing she didn’t have to have this conversation—ever. Why couldn’t there be some sort of shield when you broke up with a fiancé that kept you from ever having to see them again? Seriously. “Yeah,” she admitted.
“There’s a story there—and I’m pretty sure I need to hear it.”
Kenzi steeled herself against the hundreds of stingers that assaulted her heart as she thought about reliving her worst memory. She had no desire to go through that, and had an even stronger aversion to telling Nash what a colossal idiot she’d been.
She opened her eyes to verify that Clyde was still there and behaving himself. He had let Hattie go back to her friend and was chatting up their next-door neighbor, the ex-governor. His granddaughter was in the bouncy house, her nanny making sure she didn’t get bumped by two rambunctious boys. Wonderful, he’d secure political goodwill between countries while appearing the attentive father.
Bile rose in her throat. “Not here.” She took his hand, sending a flock of butterflies through her stomach, and led him inside the house.
