“The maid service called last Wednesday. You had a leaky faucet. It’s already been fixed.”
Right. My place. How easily I’ve settled back into the house.
“Anything else you want to add for the upcoming week?” He asks the same each Sunday, and I never fail to have a short list. Today, I’ve got nothing.
“No. Sounds good, Charlie. Thank you.”
“No problem, Mr. Gainesworth. I have my phone on me if you need anything.”
I disconnect the call. When was the last time I saw Charlie in person? I hired him and we had in-person check-ins for a time, but once his proficiency was clear, I didn’t feel the need to cross paths with him. He used to be skittish about open access to my place but once he realized that he wasn’t going to walk in on me with anyone else, he comes and goes when he needs to. The only way I know he’s been there is that my suits are gone and replaced by Monday.
I try to think about Lancaster, but my mind is mulling over how nice this weekend has been so far with minimal disturbances. I’ve been getting some work done and have been taking calls, but I wake up with my kids, braid some hair, and get to spend the morning watching them play.
The sliding door opens and Natalie steps out. The wind ruffles the coppery curls around her face. She looks soft and approachable. It’s instinct to get up and give her a kiss. We’re not there—yet.
I keep my ass seated but close my laptop. Work for today is done. “How’s your mom?”
“Better. She said she got through yesterday without napping. She might nap today, but wants to get outside for some sun.”
“That’ll be good for her.”
“As long as Dad can keep her out of the garden. She needs to work up slowly and she won’t once she puts gardening gloves on.” She sits in the chair next to me. Her sunglasses are still on, hiding her expression.
“I can make sure I’m around this week.”
Her brow crinkles over her shades. “Take another week off?”
She makes it sound like I announced we’re sailing across the world. “No, but I can come over for a bit each evening so you can get some work done.”
She stares at me. “Each evening?”
I shouldn’t be so insulted by her disbelief. I need to prove that I can do it. I did it before, when we were married.
Well, I usually brought the work home, which will happen again. But with Helena’s help, I can carve out a few hours each night. A few hours that will be easier if I’m around. “Why don’t I bring my supplies for the week over? That way I don’t have to waste time going back and forth.”
Her mouth forms a troubled line. “I don’t think that’s a…”
“I’ll be around in the mornings if you get up early, or in the evenings.” She’s going to try to do it all herself. Whether it’s her default or because she thinks I’ll flake, I have to convince her to let me help. “You still need to check on your parents?”
“I can do that with the girls.”
“Don’t swimming lessons start this week?” I don’t miss the beat of surprise. She didn’t think I’d remember what my own kids have going on.
She nods. “And the sports sampler.”
“The what?” I’ve never heard of an activity that sounds like an appetizer.
“They play a little of every sport to see what they like. It’s easier than having both of them trying full seasons of each sport while I drive all over town.”
“You’ll still be running around. Let me help. Then they don’t have to disrupt the first week by coming to the condo.” It’s getting harder to call it my place. This house has always been my place.
She thinks it over, but her expression doesn’t look happy. “I…I could use the time in the evening to keep setting up my business.”
I keep my smile just shy of triumphant. I’ve got another week with them. Another week to woo Natalie. More time to prove myself.
Chapter 7
Simon
Abby and Maddy race up the stairs and run into my condo. “Where’s your suitcase, Dad?”
Their shoes pounding on the hardwood floor echo through the empty place. My condo is an old building renovated to capture the old rustic beauty and meld with a new look. High ceilings, exposed brick, and brand new luxury plank on the floor made it trendy. That wasn’t what prompted me to buy it. It was close to my office. Less drive time was less thinking time.
Cool relief wafts over me. I won’t have to come here all week.
As soon as Natalie and I told the girls that I’ll be staying another week, they wanted to come here and get me packed ASAP. Like me, they’re afraid their mom might change her mind. So I gathered them up and gave Natalie some quiet time to get her run in and catch up on some office work.
“Just grab my gym bag.” All I need to do is load up on the essentials. I can toss the suits into the garment bag.
When I enter my bedroom, the blinds are half-open, the way the housekeeper always leaves them, as if she knows that it’s nice to not walk into a completely dark home. Right now, daylight filters through the tall windowpanes and gets dispersed by the blinds. At night, the streetlights light up the area, but I’m on the third story so pedestrians can’t see inside.
Abby’s in the closet, fists on her hips, just like her mom when she’s examining a job she doesn’t want to do. “We have to take all these?”
Her scowl is on the row of pewter, gunmetal, and navy blue suits that I wear throughout the week. She’s used to seeing me in business wear. Has a week in shorts and T-shirts made that much of an impression?
“Pick five.”
A grin breaks out and she sifts through the collection like it’s a major decision. I wake up each morning and pick one. Charlie’s already paired them with matching shirts and ties.
Ugh. I don’t want to put a tie on in the morning. Ties should be outlawed in the summer. But my clients don’t want to see my chest poking out in person or in pictures.
My phone goes off. It’s rare that Helena calls over messaging or emails.
She starts in as soon as I answer. “There’s an expo in town for business executives at the Radisson. Their featured speaker had a family emergency and can’t make it. They’ve contacted the office to see if you can do it.”
“Why me?”
She’s quiet for a beat and I know I won’t like the answer. “Someone recommended you based on the article.”
Mr. Fucking North Dakota. Naively, I thought the article was more tongue in cheek, not truly meant to highlight my single status. I don’t know about the other bachelors, but it’s not exactly something I’m proud of. I liked being married. I liked being married to Natalie. Helena said it’s a business expo, so at least the article led to some good promo.
Helena rushes on, knowing full well I don’t like how they came to find me—the Mr. North Dakota article. The whole bachelor thing wasn’t fully fleshed out when we were approached. “It’s the right crowd for you. They’re all in various forms of business, but when I inquired, the contact told me that many are entrepreneurs that have started their own. Very few of them have reached the level you have. All you have to do is throw them some inspiration.”
Inspiration.
My brother died and left me money. After that, my business really took off, but I haven’t brought on more staff and my dad points out how I’m only running a two-person operation.
But if I decline, I’d either look like a diva or an asshole with no time left for the little people. “When is it?”
“The main speaker was scheduled for their evening social Wednesday evening.”
Fuck. The evening? I can’t go back on my word after nagging Natalie to let me stay the week. “I have previous obligations. I can do a luncheon.”
“Mr. Gainesworth—”
“It’s a luncheon or nothing, Helena. My evenings this week are tied up.”
Another two heartbeats of silence. “Is there anything I should know about?”
“It’s not work-rel
ated, no.”
“I see,” she says stiffly. “I’ll call them back and inform them of your availability.”
“Thanks.” I hang up. Maddy helps me toss in dark socks and underwear for the week. I gather my toiletries so I don’t smell like watermelon kids’ shampoo every day.
I turn to find the girls making faces in the mirror in the closet. “Ready?”
Maddy twirls like a ballerina. “Where are we going now?”
The drive home will only take fifteen minutes. This errand won’t give Natalie near enough time to get her stuff done. There’s a dessert place downtown we could walk to. “Ice cream?”
“Yeah!” They race for the door.
On our way downtown, I hold their hands. They chatter non-stop, asking me questions about the buildings and what stores and restaurants I’ve been in.
I realize I’m smiling. For no reason other than I enjoy hanging out with my kids. I like doing more than tucking them in at night and rushing back to my computer. I like not shushing them while they’re playing in the corner of my office on the weekends.
We’re almost to the place I told the girls about when a dark car parks on the street ahead of us. A couple dressed like they’re going to the convention Helena called about gets out, peering up at the brick building the girls and I are walking by.
I recognize the man. Mr. Waterson is a client of mine. The woman is much younger than him, but he’s never included a Mrs. Waterson in his visits to my office, or any correspondence at all.
I should greet them, but my mouth stays closed. What are the chances he’ll recognize me? Mr. Waterson isn’t my favorite guy to deal with, but he’s one of my clients that’s been with me the longest, claiming to like my hustle, meaning he likes being able to call me at all hours and get a response.
Like Lancaster, Mr. Waterson has no issues approaching me on weekends. Do I chance that he can casually greet me and let me go about my day?
He looks my way, a disapproving frown tightening his mouth as his gaze sweeps over the girls, especially Maddy, who’s hopping beside me. When his gaze lands on me, he’s about to look away, but his eyes widen.
“Gainesworth?”
I use formal titles until I’m told otherwise, like with Lancaster because we’re friends, but I’ve always been Gainesworth to Mr. Waterson, who’s never asked me to call him William or Bill. “Mr. Waterson. How’s it going?” I release my hand from Maddy to give him a perfunctory shake.
His frown deepens and he eyes my hand for a second before he slaps his dry palm into mine for the quickest shake ever. Does he think I’m contagious because I touched a kid? “I certainly didn’t recognize you.”
I hold my smile in place out of sheer will. He makes it sound like I’ve committed a felony being out in shorts with my kids on a Sunday. Maddy’s hand slips back into mine. “I’m enjoying the day with my girls.”
“I see.” He gestures to the woman. “Gainesworth, I don’t think you’ve met Amanda yet. We’re looking at buying this building. It’s her wedding present.”
“Nice to meet you.” I don’t have to worry about giving up Maddy’s hand again. Amanda casts a cool glance our way and goes back to assessing the brick structure.
“Claims she’s going to be bored. Wants a special project.” Mr. Waterson checks his watch. “The realtor should be here by now. She’s going to get a hell of a pay-off from this sale, but not if she lollygags.”
I evaluate the building. I mean, I bought a house, a nice home for my family, but not a multi-story brick building that houses retail and high-end condos. “This should be a good project.”
Maddy tugs on my hand. A family with three kids is leaving the dessert shop, their hands piled full of chocolate and whipped cream and sprinkles. “Daddy.”
That earns another dour look from Mr. Waterson. Amanda puts more distance between us. “Just wait, honey.” I give Mr. Waterson a smile. “Hope the building works out for you. Let me know if I can be of any help.”
“You can help by watching my money. Who’s on duty while you’re playing dad?” He laughs like it’s the funniest joke in the world.
That’s not how investment works. Or being a dad. “You’re in good hands, Mr. Waterson.”
He eyes my clothing. “Amanda showed me that article. I’m wondering if you’re as dedicated as you used to be, Mr. North Dakota.”
That damn article. “Rest assured, I’m more dedicated to my clients than I ever was.”
“Hmmph.” His attention is snagged by a car parking across the street. “Finally. I should take an extra percent off her commission.”
“Have a nice day.” The girls don’t need any more prompting to start walking.
Maddy waves to Amanda. “Bye.”
Amanda lifts a brow and shifts her gaze to me. Interest infuses her eyes and her icy expression melts into a demure smile.
I give her a nod and look away. The last thing I need is for clients thinking North Dakota’s most eligible bachelor is hitting on their women—or that I’ll hit on my female clients.
Abby leans close and whispers. “I don’t like him.”
I bend down and whisper back, “When you grow up, you can buy a building for yourself. You don’t have to marry a Mr. Waterson.”
I’ll make sure of it.
* * *
Natalie
I’m sitting in a fabric foldout chair, splitting my attention between Abby running after the soccer ball on the brilliant green soccer field in front of me and catching glimpses of Maddy on the playground.
Rachel sits beside me and after a quick hello and settling in, the story of Simon pours out of me. She’s been with me through everything. She was the first one I told about my decision to file for divorce—after my mom found me sobbing on the bathroom floor. It was easier to tell her about that than it is to fill her in on last week and the upcoming week.
“So… he’s staying?” Her voice brims with disbelief.
“It’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”
Her sunglasses aren’t dark enough to hide her blink. “Well. It depends.”
“Depends on what?” I hang on her answer. We’ve grown close the last several months. I was divorcing when her husband was deploying. Our relationship grew deeper, and more necessary, for each of us. Our circumstances are different, but a lot of our feelings and experiences are the same.
“A few things.” She tucks a dark lock of hair behind her ear. Her toddler Braxton plays on a blanket in front of us. “First, what each of your expectations are. You expect help. He says he’ll help you, but is he really trying to get back together?”
“I don’t know.” I haven’t thought of Simon’s hidden motives. He doesn’t usually have any. He sets his goals and he diligently works toward them. For too long, his only goal was to make his business succeed.
Has his goal changed?
No, of course not. But maybe an additional goal? Or maybe he really wants to help me.
“Hold your limits or it might turn ugly. You had an amicable divorce. I’d hate for it to turn bad because he thought staying the week meant the bedroom door was also open to him.”
“He’s not like that.” The kiss in the office rears up in my memory. I’ve staunchly repressed it since it happened. “But we did kiss.”
She whips her head toward me, her eyes wide. Taking her glasses off, she glances around before she hisses, “What?”
“I mean, he is the most eligible bachelor in the state.” My joke doesn’t soften her shock.
“Nat. And you let him stay another week?”
I lift a shoulder. “It sort of just happened. We haven’t talked about it.”
“But he asked to stay after it happened?”
“Yes,” I sigh.
“He wants you back.”
I know the answer but that doesn’t make it better. “I think so.”
“And let me guess—he still has no clue why you presented him with divorce papers in the first place.”
“He does.”
I watch Abby trek across the field. I have a feeling I’ll be signing her up for soccer in the fall. “But I don’t think he understands. It’s the weirdest thing. He’s so supportive, but he’s also clueless when it comes to the circumstances that led to the failure of our marriage.”
“Because the marriage served him well. You took care of the kids. You took care of the house and the bills and the running around. He went to work and came home and worked more while you did everything else.”
I don’t have a reply. Why do I get it, and Rachel gets it, my parents get it, but Simon is alone on an island with nothing but a sense of abandonment? “I can’t kick him out now, though. This morning, he worked out at home so I could run to the gym and train with Aleah. Tonight, he’s supposed to be around so I can work in the office.”
Rachel snorts. “He keeps doing that and you’ll be the one to suggest another week.”
“I can’t deny that it’s nice to have him around—when he’s actually mentally and physically around.”
“I miss that.”
I send her a sympathetic smile. “Want me and the girls to come by Friday and entertain the kids while you run some errands?” She’s starting to shake her head, but I talk over her answer. “Bring the kids to my place. If Friday doesn’t work, we’re setting a date now.”
A smile finally lifts her lips. “Twist my arm. I dream of cleaning house without them undoing it behind me, and just sitting in it for a few hours, enjoying the quiet and the organization.”
“Deal. Friday?”
“Friday. But I don’t want to interrupt your time.”
“Simon won’t get home until after six.”
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