Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Now.”
“Me or your dad can come with you,” Mum offered.
“You have work.”
“Work can wait.”
I shook my head, wiping my tears. “No, I can talk to Fyfe alone. I’ll go now.”
There were a lot of nerves and slight PTSD (considering the results of the last time I drove somewhere to see Fyfe) as I guided my new (well, new to me—the vehicle was five years old) G-Wagon out of the village. A Merc dealership in Inverness happened to have a used G-Wagon with the black and rust leather interior, and it was just bougie but eccentric enough for me to snap it up.
I didn’t even know if Fyfe was home. I could call him, but after everything … aye, I thought it would be better face-to-face.
I couldn’t even think about the fact that Mor had stayed with me in that flat and was grateful for the fact that she’d always changed clothes in the privacy of the bathroom during her visit.
Relief and apprehension clenched in my belly as I pulled up to Fyfe’s house and noted his SUV out front. I hurried to his door before I could talk myself out of it.
The doorbell was loud on the other side and to my utter shock, I heard a baby’s cry follow it. Was Harley here? Had Lewis come to check on Fyfe and brought his daughter along?
I strained to listen and heard Fyfe’s muffled curse seconds before the door flew open.
He stood before me, handsome as ever, no glasses so obviously wearing his contacts, hair mussed, a towel over his shoulder, and a bowl of mushy food in one hand. He was dressed casual in jeans and a T-shirt.
The baby continued to cry in the background.
Harassed.
Fyfe looked utterly harassed.
Those beautiful dark eyes of his widened at the sight of me. “Eilidh.”
For a second, I forgot everything. Our fight. The creepy camera discovery. “Is Harley here?”
“What? Harley?” He shook his head and muttered another curse. “Come in, come in.” Fyfe was hurrying through the hallway away from me before I’d even stepped a foot inside.
Curious as hell, I shut the door behind me and followed him into the open-plan living space only to draw to an abrupt halt.
Sitting in a high chair near the island was a gorgeous baby girl, and she was staring up at Fyfe as he fed her. She wore a soft headband with a big pink bow, so I assumed she was a girl. Her little arms and legs flicked every time he spooned a mouthful of the mush.
“What the …” I took in the mess.
There were piles of boxes of nappies, baby wipes, and formula all along the base of the island.
A baby’s cot was situated behind the sofa. A changing table on the other side of the room near the dining table. There were toys and teddies scattered here and there. And the room smelled of baby powder.
“Fyfe …” I approached man and child, and he looked at me as he wiped the corner of the baby’s mouth.
His eyes gleamed with anguish. “A woman I … I had a fling with left Millie on my doorstep two days ago. Left a note with Millie telling me she was mine and that she couldn’t take care of her anymore.”
Oh my fecking gawd.
A slight curl curved his mouth. “Aye, that look on your face is pretty much what I looked like two days ago.”
My gaze flew to the wee thing. She was beautiful. “How … how could she leave her?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered hoarsely.
Aching for him, I reached out to squeeze his arm. I knew this had to be bringing up his own feelings of abandonment.
Fyfe looked at my hand as if he was shocked I’d touched him.
I withdrew my hand and asked gently, “Are you sure she’s yours?”
“No. I did one of those at-home paternity tests yesterday and mailed it out right away. It can take up to two weeks to get the results.”
Mind whirring, I glanced around the room again. “You bought all this in two days?”
“I didn’t have much choice. Drove to Inverness the day I got Millie, paid extra to have them deliver it next day.”
Of course he did. Fyfe thought he wasn’t capable of caring about people, but when called upon to do it, he threw all of himself into it. Turning to Millie who was staring at me, I smiled and brushed my fingertips over her soft, rounded cheek. “Aren’t you beautiful, wee yin?”
Fyfe sucked in a breath.
“What?”
“That’s just … that’s what I’ve been calling her. Wee yin.”
I smiled at Millie. “Wee yin. But you have such a pretty name, Millie Billie. Don’t you?” I raised my arms toward her and asked, “May I?”
“Sure.”
“How old is she?” I asked as I lifted her from the high chair and into my arms.
“She has to be around nine months, I reckon.”