“I called a cab for you. It should be here soon.”
He shrugged. “I’ll help in the meantime.” Collecting the glasses, he took them to the kitchen, with Abigail following him, the bowls of Eton Mess in each hand.
“Dishwasher is just there.” She pointed to the machine next to the sink. Carefully loading the glasses inside, he shuffled out of the way and watched her bend over to include the dessert bowls. He gave careful consideration to cupping his hand over her bottom and changed his mind. She had dishes in her hand. She may want to throw them. Pointing the way out to the dining area, he left the kitchen and perched a butt cheek on their now-cleared table. Abigail scratched her head and looked down at her trainers.
He said her name gently and before she could rack up some excuse about them being no good for each other and how all the problems he had wouldn’t be solved by them messing around, a car horn blared long and loud from outside.
“That’ll be your cab.”
“It can take us both. Lock up and I’ll make sure you get home safe.”
“Liam...”
“No arguments.”
“You don’t understand. I have OCD. I won’t sleep if the dishwasher is left on all night.”
He caught her by the hand. “Leave it. Go home. I’m not going to leave you here, so either Mr. Cab Man gets money to wait or we go now.”
She huffed. “Fine. All right.”
Picking up her keys, he walked out as she switched off the lights, set the alarm and lowered the café’s shutters.
He gave the driver his address then indicated Abigail. “Lady first, okay?”
“Sure.”
They slid into the back seat and the driver smoothly pulled away from the café and headed in the opposite direction to Liam’s own home. He took advantage, placing his arm along the back seat and allowing Abigail’s head to rest on his forearm. Moving closer, he curled his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in. He’d missed this. Being able to hold a woman in peace. Abigail slipped her arm around his back and buried her face in his neck like a little cat.
“This is what you get for being nice,” he murmured. She giggled.
“You’re in trouble when you get home.”
He made a noncommittal sound in his throat. “Meh. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure. Give me your number.”
“What for?” she asked, her tone horrified.
“So I can call you?” He made a circling motion with his free hand. “Come on.”
The car pulled up outside Abigail’s home just as he typed her number into his contacts. He looked up at the house, thinking how glorious it would be to pay the cab driver, take her upstairs to bed and undress her slowly, expose each part of her body to the moonlight and lose himself in her entirely. Instead, he watched as she gathered her belongings. “Night, Liam.”
He caught her face between his palms and kissed her lingeringly on the lips. A promise of more to come. “Good night, Abigail.”
He kissed her again and allowed her to escape. On his insistence, the cab waited until her door was closed and the lights were on before he allowed the driver to make his way to Liam’s home.
“Good date?” the driver threw over his shoulder.
Date? It hadn’t even occurred to him. She’d offered an ear for him to bend and before he knew it, he was trying to get her underwear off. Sounded like a date to him. “Surprisingly good.”
The driver chuckled. “Good for you, mate.”
Indeed...
“Dad.”
The voice penetrated his alcohol-induced sleep.
“Dad! There’s someone on the phone about site maintenance.”
Liam cracked open his eyelids. All right, maybe the two-year break had lowered his alcohol tolerance, but there was no need for him to look at anything at... Ah. Ten thirty in the morning. Could be worse. Could have been two hours earlier. “Got it, baby,” he grumbled, picking up the phone. “Leila?”
“What?” He could still hear her huffing down the line.
“You can put it down now.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome.”
A click ended her part of the conversation. “Hello?”
“Yes, Liam, this is Carol from
Bugs You Like
. All our orders have stopped coming through. I wondered if you could help.” Why him? Why today? He just wanted to roll over, close his eyes and remember what Abigail’s breasts felt like against his chest. Ah. Hangover fading fast...
“Sorry, Carol. That’s Gorang. He deals with crashes. I’m the creative brain of the organisation. Let me get you his number and he’ll talk you through resolutions, okay?”
Scrolling through his phone, he read out the number and ended the call shortly after. He then sent a text to his business partner to warn him of disaster forthcoming. Gorang texted him back in a split second.
Did you tell her to turn it off and turn it on again?
Fuck off
.
Nice. Thanks for that. How about you do something? For all of us. Get. Laid.
Nice. Gone were the days when it was a simple matter of strolling down to the local pub, picking up a woman and banging the night away. How would he live with himself if Leila saw a procession of women leaving the house at the crack of dawn? Everything he did from now on was a piece of his daughter’s psyche. How she valued herself. What she thought was acceptable behaviour. He’d already threatened one little lothario who thought he could try to talk his little girl into sending him racy pictures. What was sauce for the goose needed to be sauce for the gander. There was no way he could hope for her behaviour to improve if he didn’t set a better example. But dammit, if he didn’t want to have Abigail in his bed now.
Getting up, he showered, forwent shaving for the eighth week in a row and dressed. Leila was slouched in the front room, the fifty-inch screen bright in the darkened space, curtains drawn and an empty bowl beside her.
“Can you take that to the kitchen, please? It’s only one bowl so you can wash it instead of sticking it in the washer.”
“Morning to you too.”
“Kitchen,” he repeated. With a huff, she dragged herself from the sofa and followed him into the kitchen as he turned on the coffee machine and waited for the dark nectar to soothe his aching head. His daughter watched him from the corner of her eye.
“What time did you come home?”
He glanced around. “Are you talking to me?”
“Who else is here?”
“About my timing?”
“Yeah. I am.”
“I’m sorry, did we switch bodies in the night where I’m the child and you’re the adult?”
She shrugged, drying her hands on a kitchen cloth. “I just think it’s unfair.”
No, he had no patience for this in the morning. Not when he wasn’t in reach of coffee or paracetemol. “You can tell me that again when you’re paying the mortgage on this house.”
“Fine. I want to go to Rebecca’s.”
His child’s short-term memory was in action again. “Remember Saturday, when you were dragged home by Miss Yeboah because you threw eggs at her café?”
“I didn’t...”
He sent her a single look and she closed her mouth. “That little stunt means you’re not allowed to see Rebecca. It means stay at home and enjoy these effortlessly decorated four walls. Try out the trampoline we spent a couple of hundred pounds on. Paddle in the pool. Play some music. But you stay here.”
“You’ve got my laptop and my phone!”
“You’d be right. But you’ve got the TV.”
“Why are you so mean to me?”
God help him. “This isn’t being mean. When you do things that are wrong, morally and criminally, you need to understand there are consequences. Being without the Internet for a week should do it.”
Tears filled her eyes and as much as he wanted to comfort her, take it all back and apologise, he stood firm. It was for her own good. Shaking her head, she dashed from the kitchen. He could hear her sobs all the way to her bedroom. For once she didn’t slam the door and the fact she didn’t made him sigh heavily. Jesus. Why would any woman, let alone a woman as sharp as Abigail, be interested in wading in his dramas? He figured he was good in bed, but nothing, he realised, was worth the grief that Leila McNamara in full-blown tantrum mode could provide. Then again, what harm would sending a text message cause?
***
“All right, talk,” Haillie demanded, filling Abigail’s glass with sangria before moving on to Laura’s.
“What do you mean?” Abigail blinked, with innocence that had long since passed.
“She means you’ve been looking all moo faced since we sat down,” Laura explained, taking a large gulp. “We should do this more often. Why don’t we lunch more often?”
“We don’t have enough bank holidays to do so,” Abigail reminded them. Having returned to the café to ensure her dishwasher hadn’t overflowed and flooded the café overnight, she left her assistants to deal with the bank holiday crowd while she met her friends for a postponed lunch. Rearranged because they were all far too busy. It was a world away from their days at university, when they had time to skip lectures and hang around in bars hour after hour. Haillie managed somehow to make a living from interior design—it helped her clients were obscenely rich—and Laura was a picture editor for a women’s magazine. It was her first day off in almost eight months. Only due to her assistant physically pushing her from the café, was Abigail able to commit to the lunch and turn up.
“Tapas? Yes, tapas,” Haillie agreed, picking up the menu. “I see you’re not talking.”
“About who?”
“Gotcha!” She laughed. “Gave yourself away there, girl. Business studies,” she scoffed, picking up a piece of apple from her drink and chewing slowly. “What’s his name?”
There was no fighting this. They’d just keep digging until she broke. “Remember my mother’s been trying to set me up with that woman’s son from church?”
“Baby father?” Laura asked incredulously. “You met up with him?”
“We sort of had a date. Last night.”
“How do you sort of have a date?” Haillie wondered. “That makes no sense. You either have a date or you don’t have a date.”
Laura pointed at Abigail. “Look at her face. It was a date. What happened?”
If I was all of five years younger, he’d still be in me right now.
“Nothing I’m particularly proud of,” she admitted, swirling her drink around. “He’s got a lot of stuff going on.”
“See, this is why I don’t go out with single dads,” Laura proclaimed. “What’s his deal? Baby mother still in the picture?”
“No. She died.”
Haillie and Laura chorused in understanding. “Ooh. That improves things.”
She sent them a disgusted look. “Don’t be mean.”
“What about his kid? Cute?”
“Fucking nightmare.” Abigail shuddered.
“That’s why I don’t go out with single dads,” Haillie agreed. “Playing second-fiddle mum to someone who’ll always say to you
you’re not my mum, you bitch
! She’s never going to like you for competing with her dad for his affections. Girls are horrific pains in the arse.”
“That’s what he said.” Both women stopped. “Yes, he admitted his child’s a pain in the arse. And he’s smart. And he’s self-deprecating and good with his hands...” She ignored the looks her friends exchanged with each other. “I can’t wish he didn’t have a child because he loves her. Even if she causes his blood pressure to spike, he loves her very much. And isn’t that what we all want? A man who loves his children?”
“Yeah. His children with us, not his additional demon spawn.”
“Oh God,” Abigail groaned.
Haillie looked serious. “I didn’t think you even wanted kids yourself.”
“Why?”
“You’re so driven.” Her friend shrugged apologetically. “It doesn’t fit with the Abbie-Big-Boobs we know and adore. Please don’t get your hopes up with this man.”
“I haven’t!”
“You have—I can see it in your face. You like him already. More than’s good for you.”
“That’s the thing, Abbie. You’re always going to be the number-two woman in his life. Is his mum still alive?”
“Yes.”
Laura winced. “Number three.”
Haillie tried to make her see sense. “We all know why marriages don’t work out. It’s mainly because the spouses stop caring what happens to each other and they make everything about the kids. Kids number one, mortgage comes next, then they’re last on the list. At least give yourself a chance with a guy who will give a few years of himself to you before downgrading you to the bronze podium.”
“Why are you both being so negative?” There was potential for sex—why weren’t they encouraging her?
“Because nothing good comes of dating someone who is already a parent. You’re on two different planets. Only war will ensue.”
Was that really true? It didn’t at all feel like that when she and Liam were at the top floor of
The Library
. When his mouth was on hers and the delicious rub of his beard sent shivers all over her body... Chemistry was nearly impossible to find, and the instant chemistry she had with Liam was unreal. But he wasn’t whole without his daughter. They came together. If she really couldn’t cope with Leila then she should leave the girl’s father well alone.
She finished her sangria. “Give me another and I’ll call the restaurant to see how things are going.” As she retrieved her phone, Haillie and Laura both slapped her on the hand.
“Oi! We said no phones!”
“Just a quick...” The voice died in her throat. A text message from a number she didn’t recognise and a missed call.
You’re probably having lunch so I won’t disturb you. Just wanted to say thanks for the worst hangover I’ve had in years. But I’d love to do it again. Battle of the Wines part deux. x Liam
Palpitations were threatening to choke her. Haillie snatched her phone and read the text out loud to Laura. They both gazed at her with sparkling eyes and suppressed smiles. “Fuck it,” Haillie said, handing the phone back. “May as well get a few shags out of this.”
Sold.