Page 7 of Make You Stay

Shows how little the woman knew about me.

I suppose he’s good-looking, in a rough-hewn, backwoods kind of way. That beard eats up most of his face, and after his rude comments this morning, I have half a mind to grab the scissors and cut off his pride and joy. Some women love full beards. I’m not one of them.

But I could have overlooked the damn facial hair if the man had mustered a smile in my direction. Since he didn’t, I didn’t feel the need to be kind in return.

Needless to say, battle lines have been drawn in a war I didn’t know I was fighting.

He does have the most intensely beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen. Nice hands, too, if we’re doling out compliments. Beyond that, Aidan can sod off. Him and his moral high ground.

I throw on my coat with a grunt, determined to find a snow shovel and clear the walks. Mother Nature and her sense of humor—here, the ground is covered while in New York, we’re dealing with unseasonably warm temperatures.

I can’t wait to go home.

After locating the shovel in the shed and damn near falling on my ass trying to get it out, I trudge through the snow, intent on the task at hand.

“My Dad does that,” a soft voice says to my right. Glancing up, I spy Emily, Aidan’s middle daughter, who stuck to my side like glue yesterday.

In truth, she was the only one who did. She even held my hand at the restaurant after finding me huddled alone in a corner.

Now, she’s in the middle of building a snow castle or something to that effect.

“I like your snow house.”

“It’s a fort. Want me to get Dad?”

Please, God, don’t do that.

I shake my head. “I’ve got it. It’s good exercise.”

“Do you get snow in New York?”

“Tons of it, but I don’t have a driveway to shovel.”

Her eyes widen with curiosity. “Where do you park your car?”

“I don’t have a car. I live in the city, and I take the subway. It’s an underground train. Have you ever been to New York?”

“No. Ms. Strickland used to talk about the big city lights, but she liked it better here in Asheville.”

That’s the understatement of the century.

I can tell Emily wants to continue talking, but I have to put space between us. It doesn’t matter that Aidan’s girls are smart and funny or that I adore children. Their father has made it abundantly clear he wants me nowhere near them. It’s as though I have some disease he’s afraid they’ll catch, turning themallinto damn Yankees.

So, no matter how unfair or unwarranted his opinion of me, I must respect his wishes.

It was much the same situation with Henry and Jeff, my ex-boyfriend’s sons. I helped raise them for the better part of five years, but one day Charlie came home to let me know that his ex-wife was back in town and looking for a reconciliation.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t seen the boys in years. She was in while he kicked me to the curb, asking that I not contact the boys as it would be too confusing for them.

It was sure as hell confusing forme.

But I respected Charlie’s wishes then, and I’ll respect Aidan’s now.

Respect is a funny thing. It’s expected but rarely earned. Should be the other way around.

“Did you get a letter?” Emily inquires, moving closer to my side.

My brows knit. “A letter?”

---