I checked my watch. “It’s nearly six.” I flicked my chin toward the door. “Take off.”
“I have work to finish.”
“Try to do something fun this weekend.”
“What do you suggest?” he asked dryly.
“I’m fresh out of ideas.”
Mrs. Quinn opened the door to Mr. Dixon’s place and poked her head out.
“You’re late,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered back. “What’s with all the stealth?”
“Nothing. I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I’m here. And starving. Can we eat?”
“Want some wine?”
“Love some.” She looked back, still blocking me. “Do I have to drink it out here?”
She blinked at me. “Of course not. Come in.”
“Are we still whispering?” I leaned forward and spoke in her ear as she let me inside.
She held up her finger and grinned.
“Will you grab the sauvignon?” Mr. Dixon’s voice floated down the hall from the kitchen.
“Is Andrew here?”
Mrs. Quinn shot me a shut your mouth look.
“Who was at the door?”
I stopped when Marlow spoke.
“A lovely surprise,” Mrs. Quinn answered, a little too enthusiastically.
“Hello, Wicked.” I stepped into the kitchen. “Or am I not allowed to speak to you directly?”
She pointed at her father. “You set this up.”
“I asked the young man over for dinner. I don’t see the big deal.”
“Love dude.” Blake sat at the table, wooden building blocks scattered in front of him.
He was the best thing I’d seen all day. I refused to count Marlow.
“Love dude,” I repeated back to him, holding up my fist to him. He missed, but nailed it on the second attempt.
When he stretched his arms out to me, my chest swelled.
“Don’t even think about it,” Marlow hissed.
I ignored her and picked up my little dude. “Can’t get my work done without you. How much longer are you gonna be on vacation?”
“Permanently,” she answered for him.
“Red or white wine, Patrick?”
“Might need to change my order to whiskey.”
“Have some of this. I picked it up earlier today.” Mr. Dixon filled a stemless glass full of burgundy liquid.
I hoisted Blake on my hip and accepted.
“Either he stays for dinner or I do.” Marlow folded her arms over her chest.
“Or both of you,” Mr. Dixon passed her a white serving dish. “Put this on the table, please.”
With a scowl, she did as told.
“How’s the case going?” Mrs. Quinn took a sip of wine.
“Not great. I have an uncooperative client.”
“You’re an expert at uncooperative.” Marlow plunked another dish down in the center of the table.
“Let’s eat.” Mr. Dixon nudged me in that direction.
I put Blake back into his chair. Mrs. Quinn and Mr. Dixon sat so that the only available seat was next to Marlow.
She scooted her chair away from me.
“Are we twelve?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Did you know I would be here?”
“As a matter of fact, I did not.” I scooped broccoli onto my plate.
She accepted the bowl when I passed it to her. “If I had, I assure you—”
“You wouldn’t be here. I got that loud and clear.” Why did that sting so much? And why did I have to sound so bitter? She knew it bothered me.
“Dad, this isn’t the way to build trust back.”
“The young man seems to be the best person at communicating with you. I invited him in case we needed a referee.” He winked at me.
“We thought you might like to have a friend here,” Mrs. Quinn chimed in.
Marlow scowled. “He’s not my friend.”
“Nope. Definitely not your friend.” Something we could wholeheartedly agree on.
I was still so angry and confused by her. I’d drawn up a contract to ensure all her needs were satisfied. Loved her little boy as my own. Cared for her. Yet she continued to fling arrows in my direction.
If anyone had the right to be mad, it was me. She wanted me to sever all rights to my child. What went through her mind to decide that? I wasn’t a bad person. And she wanted me to have nothing to do with my own child. I was trying, but hiring Zegas? That move nearly destroyed my faith in her.
“Why don’t you leave?”
“Why don’t you simmer down?”
“Who do you think you are telling me what to do?”
“Who do you think you are trying to pull the crap you have?” I’d had just about enough.
“Me? I’m not the one who came up with that stupid contract.”
“What contract?” Mr. Dixon looked between us.
“Nothing,” we answered simultaneously.
“We’ve kept enough secrets between us in this family. Don’t continue the trend.” Her father could be frightening when he was stern.
Marlow stabbed at a piece of steak, avoiding eye contact with everyone.
Let’s see how she wiggles her way out of this.
“Can I call you Dad?”
He looked at me, a cross between pleased and puzzled. “You know you can. Why do I feel like I’m missing something?”
“How do you feel about being a grandpa again?”
Chapter Forty-Two
Marlow
I spat water all over the table in front of me.
He grinned. He sat there and fucking grinned.
“I hope to be a grandfather again soon.”
I resisted the urge to bang my forehead with my hand. My father couldn’t have missed the biggest hint on the planet.
“You’re an ass,” I hissed.
His grin broadened.
“Are you?” Mrs. Quinn stared at me.
“Pregnant? Yes, we are.” Patrick raised his glass.
Dad set down his fork.
Mrs. Quinn beamed and clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful.”
He focused on Patrick with that serious look that had made me straighten up as a kid. “You’ll do the right thing.”
“I’m trying my damnedest, sir.”
“We are not getting married.” I dug into my steak Diane as if this were normal dinner conversation.
“You know as well as I do how difficult it is to raise a child on your own,” Dad said.
“Are you saying it would’ve been easier if my awful mother would have stuck around?”
“Patrick is nothing like her.”
“That’s not an answer.” I shoveled mashed potatoes into my mouth.
“It would’ve been both easier and more difficult.” He pushed his plate away. “I’m not some old fart living in the olden days, but I expect Patrick do right by the both of you. The same as I expect
