Written with Regret (The Regret Duet #1)(43)

Unfortunately, Ian wasn’t buying it that day—or possibly ever.

“Don’t think because you scared the shit out of Caven and got him to agree to this charade that the rest of us don’t see it for what it truly is. I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to, but there is nothing I wouldn’t do for Rosalee. It’d do you well to remember that.”

Surprised, I rocked back on my heels—and not because of his threat. “I scared the shit out of Caven?”

He shot me a blistering scowl but offered no explanation. Leaning into the house, he yelled out, “Cav, you got company!” Then he marched past me to the driveway.

I was watching him fold into a convertible Mercedes when I heard Caven’s voice behind me.

“He’s usually the nicer of the two of us.”

“Well, he didn’t call the cops this time. I’d consider that progress.” I turned back around.

He was in dark slacks and a white button-down that was tucked in, but the sleeves had been rolled up to his elbow, revealing that tattoo of feathers again. One day, I’d gather the courage to ask him about it. Today was not that day though.

“Hi,” I breathed.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

Then nothing. Much like Ian, he stood there, not moving, not inviting me in. But thankfully unlike his friend, there wasn’t any judgmental glaring. I couldn’t read his expression at all.

Oh, but I felt his gaze as it traced over me, my body heating under his scrutiny.

“What happened to the overalls?”

I glanced at my jeans and simple tee and smarted, “I guess I didn’t realize there was a dress code.”

“I’m kidding. Come on in. She’s been excited since I told her you were coming earlier.”

My chest warmed. “Good. I’m excited too.”

His smirk grew into a mischievous grin. “I know. I’ve been watching you gather up the nerve to knock for the last ten minutes. I really thought you had it a few times there.”

Dammit! I’d been right about the cameras.

“Well, it was sweet of you to come out here and put me out of my misery… Oh, wait, that didn’t happen.”

He chuckled. Oh, thank you, God. It was chuckling Caven. I could deal with chuckling Caven.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a blur of pink polka dots as she came sliding around the corner, colliding into her father’s legs. Caven caught her arm before she had the chance to fall.

Seeing her again stole my breath. How was it possible to love someone so much that I felt it all the way down to the marrow in my bones?

“You’re the nice lady from my party,” she stated with red sauce smeared across her mouth. “Did you help the police?”

I shot Caven a questioning look.

“She did,” he replied. “Saved the day and everything. That’s how I found out she was good at art.”

It made zero sense. But, as a testament to how much Rosalee trusted her father, she didn’t question it.

“Can you draw a unicorn?” she asked. Obviously, the true test of my skills.

“I can,” I replied, squatting in front of her, thinking there was a solid chance my heart was going to explode—tears already welling in my eyes.

“With wings?”

I smiled, looking off to the side long enough to clear the emotion from my face. “Well, that’s a Pegasus. But sure. I can put a horn on anything that even resembles a horse. Goats included.”

“Yesssss,” she hissed, pumping her fists in the air. “Did you bring paint? I love to paint, but Daddy won’t let me use it anymore because I accidentally got some on the chair—”

“Accidentally?” Caven interjected. “You painted the entire chair pink.”

She tilted her head back and peered up at him. “I tried to clean it up.”

“It was nail polish, baby. There was no saving that. I had to buy a new chair.”

She gasped and looked back at me with huge eyes. “Is painting nails art?”

“It can be. Maybe I can bring some polish over next time?”

Caven shook his head. “Wow, fired before you even step foot in the house. That must be some kind of record.”

I made the eek face at Rosalee. “Okay, so no nail polish. Sorry, sweetheart.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and let out a harrumph, but a rascally grin curled at the corners of her mouth.

Caven had been right. She did look a lot like me—mainly in her coloring. But there was still a bit of him in there too. Especially when he’d been younger. She had the subtle curve of his mouth and his lips so full in the center that it caused a permanent part. I thought she might have had his chin too, but I couldn’t be sure because his was now masked by scruff.

Either way, she was beautiful beyond all reason.

“So, did you?” she asked, her green eyes dancing with excitement.

“Did I what?”

“Bring paint?”

“Paint, clay, and crayons.”

She twisted her lips adorably. “Okay, but I already have crayons.”

And then I blew her little four-year-old mind. “Have you ever melted them and dripped them over a canvas though?”

Dogs in a hundred-mile radius could have heard her squeal.