Page 4 of Let Go My Gargoyle
He lifted an envelope that had been lying next to the cash register. “This money and the note, stating it was to cover the drinks you dropped.”
She hurried over and snatched the envelope, ignored the bills, and pulled out the folded piece of paper. She didn’t even need to open it and read it; she knew it was from Griffin. It faintly bore his scent, but more than that, she could feel his magic on the note.
Please accept my humble apologies for startling your waitress. This should more than cover the expenses incurred. Consider giving her whatever is left over as a tip. Thank you. G
“I don’t want any of it. If there’s any left over,” she hastily added.
“Why not? There’s enough in there to double the tips you made tonight.”
It was tempting. She could definitely use the money. Toddlers were expensive. But— “No. Keep it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She almost always worked weekends because first, there were far more tips to be made than on a random Tuesday afternoon, and second, it was easier to secure a babysitter than during the week when everyone else worked too.
After bidding her boss good night, Sofia shivered as she stepped out into the cooling night air. It was September, and New Orleans didn’t usually see relief from the oppressive heat until October, at least. Yet in the last few hours the temperature had dropped into the sixties, which was chilly for a girl wearing shorts and a thin T-shirt and who had been raised in the Deep South. Even if she was a dragon.
She lived only a few blocks from Mitch’s Place, so she always walked to and from work, which meant sometimes she was striding down the street alone at two in the morning. Twice since she started working there she’d encountered some asshole human who decided she was a helpless girl. She’d simply growled and let steam escape from her nostrils, and each time, the guy had hightailed it out of there like his pants were on fire. Which they would have been had he attempted to lay a hand on her.
Helpless girl she most certainly was not.
Angry? Yeah, she was definitely angry. Especially when she reached the path leading to her front door and there was a gargoyle perched on the stoop. Stopping on the sidewalk, she snapped, “I thought I told you to get the hell out of here.”
He rose to his feet, and Sofia cursed herself for enjoying the fluid motion of his movements. Everything the guy had done four years ago had been smooth and velvety and gentle and seemingly caring. Until he left—without his infant daughter.
Now, she hated his stylish light brown hair, his thick stubble, those chocolaty-brown eyes, and she especially hated his soft, kissable lips. Oh yeah, and those abs. She hated his abs. And his biceps. And his muscular thighs. And…she hated everything about him.
Except his baby girl. Oh gods, was he really here to take her back? Because he sure as hell hadn’t wanted the child four years ago, and Sofia had become attached—for crying out loud, little Penelope called her Mommy—and she was not about to let this guy have her.
No matter what.
“You did,” he acknowledged, stalking toward her in the same way that had seduced her the first time they met. Except last time there had been a tiny infant snuggled in his big, strong arms. “But I can’t.”
“Why not? Your wings broken?” She crossed her arms and thrust a hip, frowning, deliberately trying to send himgo awayvibes.
“No, but I can’t leave all the same.”
Well, if that wasn’t cryptic as all get out…
The front door opened and Clarice, the young human woman who babysat for her most weekends, stepped onto the tiny porch with her backpack slung over one shoulder. She was a med student who wanted to go into pediatrics, and when she wasn’t doing rotations, she was more than happy to spend her weekends babysitting and studying.
Clarice glanced at Griffin, and her eyes flared in the same way probably every woman who saw him for the first time did. “Erm, hi.” She dragged her gaze away from his chest and waved at Sofia. “Is this the hot guy with the northern accent?”
Sofia was certain her face was turning seventeen shades of red as she refused to look in Griffin’s direction. “This is the guy I was worried would show up, yes.”
“Did you tell her I was hot, or did she deduce that on her own?” Griffin wanted to know.
Sofia ignored him. After a pause in the conversation that stretched into uncomfortable territory, Clarice said, “Well, um, Penelope’s been out since eight. She ate all her vegetables, and I gave her a bath and took her for a walk before bedtime since it was so nice out today.”
It was their usual routine. Clarice rattled off Penelope’s evening while Sofia dipped into her tips for payment. Except Griffin was also here tonight, and he had his wallet in his hand, opening the flap.
“What are you doing?” Sofia demanded.
“I take it this is the babysitter?” he asked, nodding at Clarice.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Clarice responded.
“So how much do I owe you?”
She gave him a puzzled look. Sofia didn’t blame the poor girl. For one thing, Sofia had never brought a man home after her shift at the bar, and, if she had, he probably wouldn’t be offering to pay the babysitter. Hell, few people even knew she was raising a toddler. Sofia kept a low profile.
