On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [111]
Tucker had withdrawn into himself again. Nothing she said appeared to make a dent in his stony façade. Even his favorite restaurant person, Frankie, hadn’t succeeded in getting so much as a grin out of him.
It was just like that first night, only worse, because now Lilah knew what Tuck’s face looked like all lit up with laughter. She could recall in perfect detail the way his blue eyes got shifty when he was up to some mischief. This robotic child who, even as she watched, pulled away from Frankie’s attempt to ruffle his hair, was a stranger.
Without a word, Tucker retrieved his ever-present backpack from the pastry table and wedged himself into the back corner of the kitchen, near the alley door. Lilah watched him root through his pack and decided to go sit with him.
Even if he gave her the cold shoulder, at least she’d be doing something. Besides, she told herself, he’s only a little boy. He might not want company right now, but he doesn’t know what he needs.
Ignoring the fact that it was exactly that sentiment that landed them in this situation, Lilah moved toward Tucker only to be distracted by the bang of footsteps on the basement stairs.
Her heart jumped and lodged somewhere near her breastbone.
A moment later, Phil Sparks appeared. Alone. He strode through the kitchen looking neither right nor left; cooks jumped out of his way like the Red Sea parting before Moses.
Lilah held her breath as he neared the pastry station at the back of the kitchen, where Tucker had spread out his art supplies. Would he stop and talk to his grandson?
Phil slowed when he caught site of Tucker, who glanced up from his drawing and froze. The standoff lasted for only a heartbeat before Tucker hunched back down over his paper and colored pencils, a ferocious scowl twisting his face. In spite of everything, Lilah couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy for Phil as he straightened his shoulders and continued out the back door without another word.
Tension streamed out of the kitchen in his wake like air let off from a hot-air balloon. The cooks went to work with a will, wiping down counters and lugging stacks of dirty pans to the dishwashing station.
Grant headed back out to the front of the house to supervise the exit of the last straggling guests, and Lilah took the opportunity to slip down the back staircase and find Devon.
Not that she needed Grant’s permission or anything. But she found herself feeling very unsure, second-guessing everything. It was a familiar state of being, one she’d hoped she’d left behind in Virginia. The reemergence of the old Lolly, here and now, was completely unwelcome.
At least now she knew that overwhelming feelings of guilt and regret were a trigger.
She’d give anything to be able to go back in time and stop her idiotically Pollyanna-ish self from making that phone call to New Jersey, Lilah mused as she knocked tentatively on the office door.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
“It’s safe,” Devon called. “My father is on his way back to Trenton.”
She found him leaning on the desk, arms crossed and long legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes were like ice chips, sending shivers down her spine. But not in the good way. The contrast between the chill in the air now and the sauna-like ambiance the office had held before the party, when she came down to wish him good luck, made Lilah’s heart hurt.
“Yes, I saw him go,” she said carefully, approaching Devon like she would any wounded animal.
“And good fucking riddance.”
Lilah swallowed her instinctive reaction to the cuss word. Something in Devon’s expression told her he was itching for a fight.
“No matter what your father said, you did a wonderful thing here tonight. I’m proud of you.”
He stared at her for a long, taut moment, then his face softened. “God, Lilah Jane. It was so . . . I hadn’t seen him in a long time. I guess it was bound to be difficult.”
Lilah wanted to squirm. “I know. I’m sorry.”
With a rough sound of frustration,