Page 22 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
Lauren burst out laughing. "I think he's saying 'bye-bye' to his cup."
The doorbell rang, cutting through our laughter. I looked toward the hallway, expecting Dad to answer it as he usually did, but he appeared in the kitchen doorway instead, his expression darker than the thunderclouds that had been gathering outside all afternoon.
"Dad, someone's at the door," I said.
"I'm not in the mood for company." His voice carried the edge it had held all week. "Handle it yourself." He turned and stalked toward his bedroom, leaving me staring after him as the doorbell rang again.
"I'll watch the kids," Lauren said, already standing up. "Go see who it is."
I wiped my hands on a dish towel and walked to the front door, wondering who would be visiting at dinnertime. Through the peephole, I saw a figure I recognized immediately, even though my brain refused to process what my eyes were telling me.
Duncan stood on the front porch, wearing dark jeans and a navy button-down shirt, his hair slightly mussed by the evening breeze. In his hand, he held a single white rose.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I unlocked the door and stepped outside, pulling it closed behind me. I couldn't let him see the children, couldn't risk the questions that would follow.
"What are you doing here?" The words ejected out of my mouth like an accusation and panic made my voice sharp.
He held out the rose, and I noticed the stem was freshly cut, the leaves still damp. "I picked this from your mother's garden. I hope she doesn't mind."
"Duncan." I took the flower, my fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. The simple touch sent electricity racing up my arm. "You can't be here."
"I wanted to see you." His blue eyes searched my face, and I saw something vulnerable there that made my defenses waver. "I was planning to use the excuse of checking on Barbara and Bill, but I'll be honest—I came to see you."
The sweetness of the gesture, the way he'd thought to bring me a flower from my own mother's garden, made my chest ache. I brought the rose to my nose and inhaled its delicate fragrance.
"Mom and Dad aren't in the mood for company tonight," I said, my voice softer now. "Mom had a bad day, and Dad's been…"
"Difficult?"
"That's putting it mildly."
Duncan stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne, could see the concern etched in the lines around his eyes. "How are you holding up?"
The question nearly undid me. When was the last time someone had asked how I was doing? When had anyone thought to wonder if I needed support too?
"I'm fine," I lied.
"Ivy." The way he said my name, gentle but knowing, told me he saw right through the pretense.
"I'm managing," I amended.
"Would it be okay if we talked for a while? Outside, I mean. I don't want to impose on your family."
I hesitated. The children were still eating dinner, and Lauren was watching them, but I couldn't stay away long. If Dad discovered Duncan was here, if he found out we were talking…
"If we get caught, Dad will literally kill you," I said.
Duncan's mouth quirked up at one corner. "I'll take my chances. I'll wait in our spot."
Our spot. The words sent heat flooding through my body. He meant the shadowy area beneath the old apple tree in the backyard, hidden from the house by overgrown hedges and the garden wall. Four years ago, on a warm night in late spring, we had crossed every line that should have remained sacred between us.
"I have to take care of a few things first," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I'll wait."
I slipped back inside, closing the door behind me and leaning against it for a moment to catch my breath. My pulse hammered in my throat, and my hands shook as I touched the rose petals.
"Who was it?" Lauren called from the kitchen.
