Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(75)

She did as instructed, surprised when he took her hand and walked down the hallway with her. At the kitchen table, Lyon was awake and smiling, and Charlie noticed he’d noticed their linked hands.

“Hey, bud.”

“Hi, Dad.” His eyes went to his father’s face, then their hands again. She pulled away.

Evan let her, but then put his hand on her back and pulled out the cushioned, rolling kitchen chair that had been a part of the Mosleys’ dining room for as long as she’d known them.

Similar to the outdated dinette set were the flowered curtains over a sheet of lace at the kitchen window. Pat must not have had a chance to sew new ones for out here, yet.

“What’s the ruckus?” Cliff, also in a bathrobe, scuttled down the hallway.

He clasped his chest, feigning shock at the gang inhabiting his kitchen, then kissed his wife, who was cracking eggs into a large iron skillet, no doubt laced with pork fat from the chops.

“Eggs, baby?” Pat asked him.

“You know it,” he answered.

Charlie smiled at the exchange. She and Rae had often talked of wanting that kind of enduring, forever love. Her smile fell. Evan and Rae had lost their forever.

Evan leaned into Charlie’s frame of vision, interrupting her thoughts. One of his hands flattened on the table, the other wrapped around the arm of her chair. “Coffee?”

“It’s nearly one o’clock,” she said quietly, alarmed by his nearness to her lips.

“I have decaf,” Pat called, making it known she could hear and see every last thing happening between them.

Charlie cringed.

“Decaf it is.” He winked, leaned closer, and said against her temple, “Relax, Ace.”

Then he kissed her. Briefly, but thoroughly, and at the very moment Cliff sat down at the kitchen table.

“Welllll,” he said as Charlie tried not to cringe. His large, rough hand came across the table to rest on top of hers. Evan moved away to make coffee. Cliff patted her, gave her a genuine, loving smile, and turned to Lyon. “What will we have for breakfast if we have eggs now?”

Lyon’s smile was alert and alive, even this late. “Pancakes!”

Cliff chuckled and slid Charlie a look before patting her hand again. “Pancakes it is.”


*


“After dinner,” Evan repeated for the tenth time.

That’s how many times she’d heard Lyon ask to play his iPad game on the drive home. And they weren’t home yet.

They’d packed up and left the Mosleys’ house late afternoon since they’d been up since two in the morning eating food that should definitely only be eaten at two in the morning if they’d all been on a bender.

Pat made pancakes for breakfast and after, Charlie showered. She’d just finished making the bed when Pat rapped on the door and poked her head in. As it turned out, Charlie didn’t go back to Evan’s room last night. He’d let Lyon crash on the pullout sofa in the spare bedroom. She’d been relieved. They may be adults, and Evan may not mind everyone knowing about them, but her sleeping in the same bed with him under Rae’s parents’ roof was a stretch.

Plus, Pat hadn’t exactly seemed happy upon finding them canoodling in Rae’s old bedroom, currently her sewing room or not, and no doubt wouldn’t appreciate them turning that canoodling into more canoodling. Especially considering Lyon was a few rooms away.

In the bedroom, Pat had shut the door behind her. Charlie fidgeted, hanging the robe on a hanger and putting it back into the closet.

“Charlotte.”

She’d turned to find the older woman wearing a striped blouse and black pants, short-heeled sandals on her feet, her makeup just so. Conversely, Charlie’s hair was air-drying into a frizzy mess and she was in a wrinkled T-shirt, skinny jeans, and a pair of Toms.

“Thank you for letting us stay,” she said, her smile wilting.

Pat had given her a very slow eye-blink and came to the bed, where she patted the duvet. “Sit, sweetheart.”

Heart in her throat, Charlie sat. Last night she’d finally fallen asleep around four. The reason it’d taken so long to fall asleep after being awake was because of Pat. Charlie had lain awake trying to decide if the woman would confront her come morning, then decided she most definitely would, then fretted about it until she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

She sat up straight, ready to take the talking-to she knew was coming. It’d be done out of love—this was Patricia Mosley, after all—but Pat would be firm, and likely remind Charlie to be loyal where Rae was concerned, and extra cautious around Lyon at his tender age.

Because this was what she’d expected, guilt pooled in her stomach the second Pat took a breath. But when she spoke, she said not one thing Charlie had anticipated.

“So. You and Evan.”

Surprised by Pat’s laissez-faire tone, Charlie’s next word blew out on a soft, stunned breath. “Sorry?”

Pat tilted her head, another slow eye-blink. “Baby. You and Evan. I see it. Poppa can see it. Lyon can see it.”

Her stomach flipped, pancakes riding a wave of terror crashing through her torso. “It’s not what you think.”

“No?” Pat’s penciled eyebrows rose. “You haven’t snagged my grandson’s heart? You haven’t snagged Clifford’s heart? You haven’t snagged my baby girl’s husband’s heart?”