Page 18 of Unexpected Love
“Well, we better get home and get some food in this girl.She gets hangry.” A tiny smile touches his lips as he looks at Charlie. “If you need anything, we’re right upstairs.”
Wait. Upstairs?
“You’re the one banging on the wall?”
Those glacial blues zip back to me. “How’d you kno—” The warmth from gazing at his niece is replaced by an ice-cold glare. “You’re the jerk blaring music in the middle of the night? Real nice work on the fish. Bet you had a real blast strewing it all over my landing. Was kind of a dick move, if you ask me.”
I gasp. And just like that, lines are drawn.
“Never mind, I take it back. Don’t call me if you need anything.” He scoops up Charlie, who wiggles and fusses in his grip. “And how about you have the decency to not blare your music loud enough for people across town to hear. Some people have jobs.”
He tosses the words out like being a barista and working in a coffee shop isn’t a real job.
“How about you grow some manners and not bang on the wall?”
“I couldn’t leave because the baby was sleeping. Otherwise, I’d have been banging on the door.”
Our voices grow in volume until we’re nearly shouting at one another. This is not me. I don’t shout at people. But I’ve had it with men who think they can push me around.
“Get out of my shop.” I fling the words out, wishing they’d slap him.
“Oh. Trust me. You won’t see me set foot in here again.” He stalks to the door, slamming it open and marching through like I’ve royally pissed him off.
What a jackass.
Chapter 7
Cal
The damn thump of some upbeat tune blares to life through the wall, through my apartment, through my head. It quiets immediately, but not quickly enough. From the guest bedroom, a little wail erupts. Charlie’s having a tough time going to sleep, and any little thing upsets her.
Swallowing a curse, I bury the heels of my palms against my eyeballs.
Jules the barista must be a heartless, cruel person. She knows I have Charlie. But she’s making a statement and displaying exactly how she feels about me.
That’s fine. Because right now, the feeling is mutual since she woke up the baby.
I take a small measure of satisfaction that it’s her fault, not mine. I go to the wall and bang loudly, and Charlie cries that much harder.
Fine. I’ll show Jules.
I open the bedroom door, and Charlie’s piercing scream shoots a dagger through my left eyeball.
After leaving the yelling match downstairs earlier, Ibrought Charlie home, and the good day we’d had up until we made the fatal mistake of stopping in the coffee shop went to hell in a handbasket.
Nothing went right.
Charlie threw everything I put on her plate, and then she threw the whole damn plate. My usually spotless kitchen was covered in English peas and carrots. I didn’t get the lid on all the way, so when she threw the bottle, milk went everywhere.
I pull a flailing Charlie into my arms and march out of my apartment, down the stairs, around the back of the building, and then take the steps up two at a time.
Charlie is still flailing as I bang on Jules’s door. It opens an inch, barricaded by a flimsy chain.
“Too scared to face the results of your actions?” I bark. “Congratulations. You win.”
Charlie punctuates my sentence by punching me in the jaw. I glare at Jules, who shuts the door.
Shuts. The. Door.
