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Scarlett

We haven’t talked about it.

It’s been five days since I kissed Killian, five days since I pictured him as I got myself off, and we haven’t talked about it. The kiss—he doesn’t know about the second part.

He’s acting like nothing happened, so much so that I’ve questioned if I made it all up. But my imagination has never been that good.

I’ve been trying to remind myself that I have bigger things to worry about than the lingering memory of Killian’s lips on mine, but it’s an uphill battle. I’d rather think about that than the negative balance in my bank account, or the too-small collection of Christmas gifts for the kids hidden inside the broken suitcase in my closet. I’d rather focus on just about anything except the looming shitshow when we have to tell Killian’s mom about everything. When we have to tell Dom about everything. When we have to tell the kids. At least they’re too young to understand what it means that their dad is married to someone else, but I know Caitlin is old and observant enough to figure out that Killian and his siblings lived with Dom while they were growing up, and he barely shows his face here.

No matter how much I try to minimize it, I can’t stop them from getting hurt. I never want to be the reason they grow up resenting their dad—god knows, Dom has done a good enough job of that on his own—but, more so, I really don’t want them to resent Killian, Fallon, or Ronan. Especially not Killian. They’ve built such a good relationship with him, and I don’t know who will be more crushed if everything coming out ruins it—Killian, or the kids.

And, no matter how it all turns out, he’s leaving. Every time I think of it, I get a knot in my chest that makes it a little harder to breathe. So, mostly, I’m trying not to think about it.

How is it possible that in a little over two weeks, he’s knitted himself so perfectly into the fabric of our family?

“Scar?”

I jump, almost dropping the jug of maple syrup I’ve been clutching for the past five minutes, doing nothing when I was supposed to be filling up the table bottles.

“Shit, sorry. I’ve been daydreaming,” I say, offering Cassandra an apologetic smile. Thank god the diner isn’t busy today, because I sure as hell haven’t been pulling my weight.

“It’s all good. Janice Neumann’s on the phone for you.”

Caitlin’s teacher. Shit.

I put the syrup down and take the handset from Cassandra’s outstretched hand. “Hello?”

“Hi, Scarlett.” Her voice is hushed, but she doesn’t sound panicked. Not that that stops me from panicking.

“Is Caitlin okay?”

“She is, but I think it would be best if you picked her up. She’s, ah … having a bad day. I don’t know exactly what happened, but she got upset and started shouting at some of her friends. And when I asked her why, she snapped that she didn’t want to talk to me and started crying.” She doesn’t have to say it’s not like Caitlin. We both know it’s not. She loves school, and it takes a lot to shake her.

“I’ll come and get her now,” I promise, frowning at the clock above the sink. Thankfully, I only have an hour left of my shift, and Cassandra won’t miss me. Not that anything would stop me from running to my kids when they need me.

I untie my apron and shove it in my bag.

“Everything okay?” Cassandra asks, pushing backward into the kitchen with a stack of dirty plates.

“I’m sorry, I have to leave early to pick Caitlin up. Something’s upset her but she won’t say what.”

Cassandra waves me off. “Don’t even worry about it, honey. Grab some treats from the cabinet for the kids and your man on the way out.”

“Oh, he’s not my—” I close my mouth when Cassandra raises a skeptical brow. It’s not like it hasn’t occurred to me what people around town must be thinking. I haven’t heard any whispers, but I know this town enough to know they’re happening, and there’s not much point in trying to stop them. People are going to talk, regardless of what I say or do. “Thank you.”

Laden down with the kids’ favorite peanut butter cookies and the chocolate coconut pie Killian gets whenever he’s here, I pull my jacket tight and step out into the cool afternoon. The school is only a five-minute walk from the diner, but it’s fifteen minutes from home, and, if Caitlin is upset, I want to get her home and settled as soon as possible. I hate asking for help, but it’s not for me—it’s for her.

“Hey,” Killian answers on the second ring, and it’s a problem how much just hearing his voice soothes me. “You okay?”

“Hey. Yeah, sorry to bother you while you’re working, I—”

“You’re never a bother, love. What do you need?”

I almost slip on the icy sidewalk as the term of endearment falls from his lips. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s a common Irish thing. But it has my heart racing, anyway.

I have got to get a grip. Literally, and figuratively.

“It’s Caitlin. Her teacher called and said something’s upset her, but she doesn’t know what. I’m on my way to pick her up now, but would you mind meeting us there? We could walk home, but—”