Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Your work is always going to be there. How about you eat dinner with your kids instead?”
“Maybe some other time.”
“So that’s just another task we have to schedule into their routine?”
“Evie—”
“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me to connect with your children for the last three weeks?” Before he could reply, I added, “Of course you do. You’ve been watching us.”
Since we’d arrived in Spain on his plane, things had been super stressful for me. I thought it would be easy to befriend Ethan and Ariel, allowing them the liberty to just be kids.
Except, I couldn’t have been more wrong. His children wanted nothing to do with me. They were like trained puppies, sticking to their schedules on the daily. Anytime I tried to take them out of their routine, they didn’t care for it.
Most of Caleb’s staff moved to Spain with him. He was adamant they continue with their normal instructors, including Ethan’s teacher. I couldn’t imagine how much it was costing him to uproot and bring everyone to Barcelona with them. Yet he didn’t bat an eye over it. Caleb had always been successful. I’d never seen a drive quite like his before. His work ethic was on another level. It always had been, and it was obvious it only got worse as the years went on.
However, back then he was just different. The man I knew would prioritize his kids, no matter what. He was happy, content, and so full of life. His demeanor was completely opposite now. The weight of his world hung heavy on his shoulders. It was crystal clear with his cold and distant behavior toward everyone, and he was becoming more detached as the days passed.
“Do you know I tried to get them to make cookies with me tonight? Cookies, Caleb!”
“Yes, I heard you the first time.”
“Kids love baking cookies. I even told them they could eat a bite of the batter. You know what they said to me? They said they weren’t allowed to eat cookies. What the hell is that? You don’t allow them to eat cookies?”
“It’s unnecessary sugar.”
“You want to know what’s unnecessary?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“You bet your ass I am! It’s absolutely unnecessary that we’ve lived here for three weeks and this is the first time you’ve come home before midnight.”
“I’m working, Evie. It’s why they have you.”
“What about you? They need their father too.”
“They have me.”
“When?”
“I watch them all day long.”
“They don’t know that. When do you spend time with them?”
“Time is what I don’t have.”
“So what? That’s your excuse? Not only do they not have their mother, they also don’t have their father. What kind of bullshit is that?”
My eyes followed the movement of his strained expression. At least I was getting through to him. The air was suddenly so thick between us, it almost made it hard to breathe.
“When’s the last time you ate dinner with them, Caleb? Or tucked them into bed? Read them a bedtime story? They need more than just a rigid schedule. They need to feel loved and adored by you. Why can’t you give them that?”
“I give them everything I can.”
“Except for your time.”
He grimaced. It was quick, but I saw it.
Good.
He deserved to feel like the absentee father he was. I didn’t hide the concerned expression in my empathetic stare. Deciding what I was going to reply, I held back my temper, fully aware I wouldn’t get far if I kept criticizing him.
“I know you think you’re doing what’s best for them. Truly, I do. But I grew up with a father who threw money at the problem every chance he could get. I’m not saying you’re doing that, but in a way you are.”
“Do they not have a roof over their heads? Or food on the table?”
“Stop being defensive and actually listen to what I’m saying to you, Mr. Grump. Your kids need you, and the worst part is you know I’m right.”
Our eyes locked.
Fusing together.
Tethering as one.
An intensity I couldn’t begin to put into words.
To explain.
To rationalize.
To make any sense of at all.
“At the end of the day, you can do what you want, Mr. Hawkins, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I was the first to shake off the effect he always had on me, walking over to the stove as I thought our conversation was over. I got my point across. When I once again felt him standing behind my back, I froze.
“So we’re back to Mr. Hawkins?”
“Yes. That’s your name. You’re my employer. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Evie. We’re so much more than that.”
“Can you please stop touching me? It’s very inappropriate. My boyfriend wouldn’t—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about your make-believe boyfriend.”
“Would you like for me to call him?”
“Here, I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifted up his phone, quickly snapping a photo of us. “Text him this.”