She had so many questions, and she wasn’t at all sure she was ready to hear the answers.
“That was ridiculously childish,” Libby told Tina two hours later. The staff had given Libby a smash cake for her birthday, and it had given Libby a childish kick to wreck that cake. All she had to do was picture Greyson’s face as she smashed the hell out of it. Very therapeutic. She and Tina were now in the tiny office at MJ’s, changing out of their sticky clothing.
“But fun,” Tina said with a laugh, sounding more lighthearted than she had in weeks. That alone had made the entire messy, crazy cake fight worth it in Libby’s book.
“Yes,” she conceded. “It was fun. Thank you.”
“Admit it, you’re just happy you didn’t have to eat it,” Tina quipped, and Libby chuckled. Tina had baked the cake, and she wasn’t a very good baker.
“I think that was my real birthday present,” Libby teased her.
“Shut up, we can’t all be master pastry chefs,” Tina said with a little pout. She combed her fingers through her thick, damp hair, searching for cake residue. “I get it all?”
Libby cast a quick eye over her friend’s hair. Tina had been forced to wet it to get rid of some of the stickiness. “Looks like it.”
“Soooo . . .” Tina stretched out the word as she continued to toy with one of her long strands of hair. “I’m thinking of heading to Cape Town for a few days next week.”
“You are? Why?”
“I’m going to sell my flat.”
“You love that place,” Libby said. Tina had been so happy and proud when she had bought that flat; it was hard to imagine her willingly giving it up.
“I love this place more. I want to buy a house here. No point clinging to the flat when I’ll never live there again.”
“That makes sense.”
“And I want to meet Edward”—her new nephew, Conrad and Kitty’s baby, born shortly after they had moved to the Garden Route; Libby was happy that her friend was at the point where she would willingly meet a baby—“and Harris is leaving Australia today.” Tina didn’t have to elaborate for Libby to understand that she meant to see him.
“I know,” Libby said with a soft smile. Harris had sent her a birthday text earlier and told her he’d be leaving Perth today.
“He and I have some unfinished business.” Tina paused before continuing in a rush. “I’m going to ask Greyson to oversee management of MJ’s while I’m gone.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Libby protested, not at all pleased with the notion of having Greyson hanging about, bossing everyone around.
“You’re busy with the kitchen, Libby. Ricardo has his hands full running the floor. I need someone here in a supervisory capacity to make sure things run smoothly between the front of the house and the kitchen. You know that. And I thought Greyson would be a good choice because he could watch Clara while he was chilling in my office being a figurehead.”
Ha! As if a control freak like Greyson would be content with being just a figurehead. Tina would be lucky if she returned and found her restaurant still recognizable after leaving him in charge.
“Does it have to be Greyson?” Libby asked, knowing she sounded petty, but really . . . yeah, she felt petty. Especially after Greyson’s revelations that morning.
“It won’t be for long, a few days max.”
“If you must. But you tell him to keep his nose out of my kitchen.”
“I’ll do that.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Day after tomorrow.” That was on Sunday. She’d have to endure a “possibly volatile” conversation with Greyson before seeing him all day, every day, for goodness knew how long. Tina wasn’t being very forthcoming about the exact length of her absence.
But Libby knew her friend still had a lot of personal business to settle back in Cape Town. Not only with Harris but with her parents and brothers as well.
“You do what you have to do, Tina,” Libby said, offering the other woman an encouraging smile. “MJ’s will be fine.”
“I don’t know why you decided to drive,” Greyson grumbled as he loaded Tina’s heavy bag into her car early on Sunday morning. “Flying would be safer and faster.”
“I like the drive, and it’ll give me time to think.”
“Less thinking and more concentrating on the road, okay?”
“I’ll drive safely,” she promised.
“No speeding.”
“That’s generally what driving safely means, Greyson. You’re turning into a mother hen,” she teased him, and Greyson smiled. He couldn’t recall being teased much before. But Mar—Tina—had started doing so regularly. He quite enjoyed it, even though he had no idea how to tease her back. That had always been his problem. He didn’t know how to relax and be comfortable around others.
With Olivia, at the start of their relationship in London, he had felt a sense of belonging. He had been able to relax and laugh with her. But when they had returned to South Africa, she and Harris had immediately fallen into their old, easy friendship. Greyson hadn’t been able to see a place for himself within that dynamic. And it had been isolating.
“Well then, drive safely. Take regular breaks in safe locations, and text me when you do.”
“Why? So that you can check up on me?”
“That. And so that I won’t worry.”
Her face softened, and she nodded. “I’ll do that.”
“Good.” He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “I’ll see you soon, then.”
“Silly,” she chided before stepping into his arms for a hug. Greyson stared down at the top of her head before closing his own arms around her comfortable frame. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Caring.”
She stepped out of his arms and smiled at him, her expression tinged with sadness. “Libby told me you guys are having lunch today?”
“I’m going to tell her everything.”
“She’s going to be angry and hurt . . . but think of it as fresh blood draining the pus out of a festering wound.”
“That’s”—he wrinkled his nose—“truly disgusting, Tina.”
“Yet apt. It’ll be fine, Greyson.”
“I’m afraid of losing her.” It was the most revealing thing he had ever said to anyone. It was more than he’d even admitted to himself.
“Greyson, you’ve lost her already,” Tina said gently. “What you need to focus on is winning her back. And that means being completely honest with her. At the risk of sounding like a total cliché, you have nothing to lose . . . but everything to gain.”
She shook her head and laughed. The sound was short and loud and lacked any semblance of humor. “Look at me, doling out advice like some love guru when I can barely get my own shit together.”
“I appreciate your insight,” Greyson muttered.
“Do with it what you will. I’d better head off; I want to avoid the church traffic.”
“Is that an actual thing?”
“It is in Riversend,” Tina replied. “There are, like, three churches here. And the mosque.”
She gave him an airy wave and climbed into her car. Greyson waved her off before turning to go inside. He paused and stared at the ramshackle old split house for a moment. He’d had every intention of moving out after he’d first arrived, but when Harris had asked him to keep an eye on Tina, Greyson had shelved the idea . . . and this horrid, small, grubby place had started to feel like home. Something he hadn’t imagined possible a mere six weeks ago.
He wouldn’t want to permanently stay here, but he didn’t mind it as much anymore. But with both Harris and Tina now gone, he felt a pang of melancholy and loneliness.
He trudged back inside, sank onto the sofa, and brought up his adult coloring app to kill time until lunch.
An hour before he had to leave for lunch, he set aside his phone, having colored his way through three pictures in the interim. He showered, shaved, and carefully considered what he wanted to wear for
this meeting.
In the end he armored up . . . going with what was familiar and safe. He figured he was going to need the extra protection.
“This is quite off the beaten track,” Greyson observed when they arrived at the quaint cabin nestled among tall yellowwood trees. The place was aptly named Le Café de la Forêt.
“Didn’t your investigator inform you of that fact?” Olivia asked caustically. She dragged Clara’s nappy bag from the back seat, while Greyson unbuckled the baby from her seat.
At Olivia’s insistence, they had traveled in separate cars. Greyson had chosen not to argue, meekly following her from her house for nearly forty minutes before they arrived at their destination. Her sarcastic question about the investigator didn’t bode well for the rest of their talk. She was clearly still upset with him after his revelations on her birthday, and Greyson hated that they were starting such a crucial discussion off on the wrong foot.
The door to the café opened, and a tall, impressively built man with sharp, striking features stepped out.
“Aaah, you brought my little bonbon for a visit,” he raved, heading straight toward Greyson and plucking Clara from his arms before he could react. Greyson instinctively moved to grab her back, but the baby was chortling happily, and the man was already at Olivia’s side and sweeping her up into an effusive hug.
Greyson stared in mute frustration as this . . . this godlike creature of masculine perfection monopolized Greyson’s family’s attentions and affections for endless moments. Fussing over a babbling Clara and peppering Olivia with questions about the restaurant, her new recipes, how she was doing, how the house was shaping up . . . while not acknowledging Greyson at all.
Asshole.
Greyson stepped forward and deliberately invaded their cozy little cocoon of hugs and kisses. “Greyson Chapman,” he interrupted rudely, thrusting his hand out pointedly. The other man, Chris, stepped away from Olivia and thankfully dropped his arm from around her shoulders. He looked down at Greyson’s hand for a long moment before shaking it. The action was pointedly reluctant and perfunctory.
“Oui, I know who you are,” the guy said, his voice cold.
“Greyson and I have important matters to discuss, Chris.” Olivia’s quiet voice.
“I will happily keep my sweet little Clara occupied while you do that.” He kissed Clara’s cheek, and the baby gurgled happily in response. “Did you miss your oncle, ma petite? I missed you.”
“That’s not necessary,” Greyson protested, hating how at home Clara seemed in the man’s arms. How clearly familiar he was with her. “She can stay with us.”
“Nonsense, we are old friends, Clara and I. She remembers all those poopy diapers I had to change. And all those times I rocked her to sleep and soothed her when she cried. Not so, little one?”
“She probably doesn’t,” Greyson said tautly. “Babies only start remembering people they don’t see regularly when they’re six months old.”
“Clara is much more intelligent than your average baby.”
Well, there was no way Greyson could argue with that, since he happened to agree with it. He clammed up. He couldn’t help resenting the history Chris had with both Clara and Olivia, but he was unable to deny that the man had been there for them at a time when Greyson had been too incapacitated by his own self-pity and weakness to do the job himself.
Chris slid an arm around Olivia’s waist and led her into the restaurant, leaving Greyson standing there like a chump. They looked like the perfect little family, and jealousy gnawed painfully away at Greyson’s gut.
He glowered at Chris’s broad back, seething silently while the man continued to fuss over Clara.
So much for this being neutral territory. Olivia was clearly very at home here, while Greyson felt immediately wrong footed and out of place.
Chris led them to a small, intimate table in a quiet back corner of his tiny coffee shop. The place wasn’t very busy; in fact they were the only ones there, and Greyson cast a puzzled look around, wondering why this place was considered so successful when it was this quiet on a Sunday.
His question was answered when Olivia took a similarly quizzical look around the shop. “Chris, the café is closed, isn’t it?” she asked, sounding exasperated. “I thought you were open on Sundays.”
“I usually am, but this seemed urgent.”
“Wait, you closed because of us?”
“No, of course not,” he said soothingly, before tossing Greyson a seriously disdainful look. “I closed because of you. And of course this little mamsell.” The last was directed at Clara, and he tweaked her nose. A gesture that was greeted with a delighted chuckle.
“Chris, that’s crazy. You shouldn’t have done that,” Olivia said. Greyson looked down at the floor, furious. If he made eye contact with anyone right now, he would probably blow a fuse. This was so far out of bounds he wasn’t sure how to react. All he knew was that he wanted to take his kid away from the arrogant, ridiculously good-looking douchebag and . . . and steer his wife out of this place where the owner obviously had strong feelings for her. Feelings Greyson wasn’t sure were strictly platonic.
“Neutral territory, huh?” he grumbled, unable to prevent himself from lifting his seething gaze to Olivia.
Crap, Chris was really going overboard with the protective-friend bit. Libby understood that Greyson had to feel ambushed and felt guilty to have led him straight into it. But she hadn’t expected this show of macho alpha male bullshit from her usually easygoing friend. Like she didn’t have enough to deal with already. She knew Chris thought he was looking out for her, and part of it stemmed from how emotionally fragile she had been when she’d first arrived here all those months ago. It had kicked his protective instincts into hyperdrive, and he had taken on a big-brother role that seemed to have morphed into whatever the hell this was.
“Chris, se détendre s’il vous plaît.”
Her friend glared at her, clearly not happy with her telling him to relax. Greyson raised his eyebrows at her words, and she sighed. She had forgotten he spoke fluent French. Also German, Japanese, Italian, Mandarin . . . and probably a few more that she had forgotten about.
“I will bring your entrée,” Chris said stiffly, and Libby bit back a groan. She was getting heartily sick of men and their brittle egos. He turned away, still holding Clara, but when the baby realized he was carrying her away from them, she uttered a protesting cry and reached her arms out toward Greyson.
Libby’s mouth fell open. It was the first time Clara had ever reached out to a specific person. Toys and her bottle, yes, but never an actual person. Her eyes tracked over to Greyson, who was staring at the baby’s outstretched arms in disbelief.
His gaze flew to Libby’s, alight with joy and something that looked very much like relief. The smile that lit his face was an appealing mix of pride, happiness, and absolute vulnerability. As if he wasn’t quite sure he could believe what he was seeing.
“She’s never done that before,” he said, his voice hushed, and Libby couldn’t help but return his elated grin.
“No, she hasn’t.”
The baby was still reaching for Greyson and wriggling in Chris’s arms in an attempt to get to her father. Greyson got up to take her, and when Chris relinquished his hold on her writhing little body, she practically launched herself into Greyson’s arms.
“Hey, sweetheart. Do you want to stay with Mummy and Daddy? That’s okay, my darling. You can sit with us.” He held her close and kissed her cheek.
“I will return in a few minutes,” Chris said, taking Clara’s rejection with a good-natured smile.
“Thanks, Chris,” Libby said as Greyson took his seat across from her. He was still talking to Clara and made sure she was settled on his lap, her pacifier in her mouth as she snuggled into his chest, her sleepy gaze on Libby’s face. She was absently tugging at Greyson’s red silk tie. He was dressed to a T today: three-piece navy-blue suit and red tie with a pair of black wingtip shoes on his feet.
He looked like the Greyson Chapman she knew, and—her thoughts skidded to a halt before she could complete the phrase. Well, he looked like the Greyson Chapman she knew.
Familiar, austere, distant.
“So you and Chris—”
“He’s just a friend,” Libby interrupted tautly.
“Seems to me he fancies himself as more than that.”
“You’re imagining things,” she said dismissively.
“Possibly. Perhaps because I find it hard to imagine any man wanting to be just your friend.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Libby said, not sure if she found his words flattering or disturbing.
Chris returned with a couple of tall glasses.
“Green apple and lemongrass soda,” he murmured as he placed the glasses in front of them. “I know you don’t want to be disturbed, so I took the liberty of preparing a meal for you.”
“Merci, Chris,” Libby said with a grateful smile, while Greyson just glared at the man. Chris popped away for a few seconds before returning with beautifully presented scallop dishes.
“Butter-seared scallops with ginger-infused shallots.”
He left before either of them could thank him.
Greyson didn’t say anything, ignoring his plate while Libby picked up her fork and sampled one of the scallops. She couldn’t contain her moan of delight as the flavors sang on her appreciative tongue.
“You should try it,” she prompted him, pointing at his untouched plate with her fork.
“I’m not hungry. And let’s face it, we’re not really here to eat.”
Well, that definitely killed what little she had in the way of appetite. Libby set aside her fork and watched as he leaned to the side and picked up his bag. He fumbled around in it with his free hand before removing a familiar-looking A4 envelope from the bag. He placed the envelope in the center of the table between them. His gesture similar to hers when she had given the envelope to him a month ago.
“I signed them,” he said, not meeting her eyes. Instead he focused on Clara’s face. The baby looked on the verge of falling asleep. “There are a few changes, of course. With regards to, uh, custody, but I’m sure you’ll find my requests reasonable.”
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