After this past weekend, thoughts of Natalie and Tatum have taken up residence in my brain, and like squatters, they refuse to leave. Saturday night after everyone left, Nate cornered me and asked me what was up with his sister and me.

Wanting to keep my balls, I lied. Told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. Told him she was an employee and a friend and nothing more. Utter bullshit, because I can totally see Natalie becoming my everything.

And her little girl? Damn, I may have only just met Tatum, but I already feel fiercely protective of her. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t really have a father figure, or maybe it’s because she’s Natalie’s kid. Hell if I know. We just got each other. It’s like her brain and mine connected on a whole other level.

One thing’s for sure, I’m honored to know her, and that’s not something I ever thought I’d be saying about anyone’s kid other than my own.

Still, I can’t stop wondering about Tatum’s father—no, not father, sperm donor. How any man could leave those two is beyond me. Nat is sexy, smart, selfless, funny, driven…the whole fucking package. And Tatum, my God, I’ve only met the kid once and can already tell she’s amazing. She possesses all of her mother’s best features and for some reason, we just got each other. It’s like her brain and mine connected on a whole other level.

I asked Nate about the father when he broke the news all those years ago that Natalie was going to have a baby before she even finished high school. He said she didn’t know for sure who her baby daddy was…or she wasn’t telling.

Hell, I even shot her a message asking about it all, and while it was read, it went unanswered.

But what reason would she have to keep it under lock and key? I know for damn sure if I knocked someone up, I’d want to know. I’d want to be present and to help…to know my child. I swallow down the bitter memories that threaten to invade. It’s fucking crazy how Mia has managed to poison so much of my life with her lies.

For real, though, that shit pretty much blew my mind. My Small Fry has always been a good girl, and the thought of her letting some dude between her legs when she probably should’ve been studying lowkey pissed me off. Which is kind of absurd. What right did I have to be upset over her doing the same things I was doing at that age? I told myself I was merely feeling overprotective of her—like a brother. Except, the uninvited thoughts I had of her from time to time were far from brotherly.

It feels like my entire body is being poked by a million pins and needles anytime I’m in Alden’s vicinity at work. If he gets too close, my skin feels too tight, my gut like lead, and my brain turns to mush.

I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s my guilt slowly eating its way through my internal organs, working to consume my soul. Which is why I’m coming clean Saturday night at dinner.

I know it’s going to be painful and awkward, but hopefully in public, the inevitable fallout won’t be too catastrophic—though, I definitely deserve his anger. And I’m prepared for it. Obviously, I’m not expecting him to throw his arms around me and thank me for taking on the hard parts alone. I’m not stupid, and he’s not a martyr.

Nope. Just a girl prone to making monumentally poor decisions.

Unfortunately, I came to this decision over coffee on Sunday morning while standing in Tatum’s doorway watching her sleep. So far, she’s never asked about her father, or where he is, or why she doesn’t have one. But, one day, she will. And I’m doing them both a major disservice by holding onto the truth.

So, Saturday night it is.

Downside, it’s only freaking Wednesday, which means I get to help Alden close tonight. Like I said…pins and needles. And because of that, I can’t seem to get my shit together enough to put up a front of being cool, calm, and collected.

It’s like that one time in high school when I drank for the first time. All of my friends were having a good time, but I was jumpy and paranoid that we were going to get caught and grounded for all of eternity.

So far, thanks to Jenny running interference, it’s been easy to avoid being completely alone with him. When I asked for a helping hand, she looked at me a little funny but agreed anyway. Thank you, girl code. But the fact that he just told her to go home early tells me he’s onto my avoidance tactics and that some one-on-one time is inevitable tonight.

I mean, she was in the middle of her freaking side work, for Pete’s sake, but Alden didn’t even blink about cutting her. Told me to take over and her to see Carlos for tips and to vamoose.

The sounds of the kitchen crew breaking down for the night filter out into the dining room, letting me know that soon they too will be gone.

All I have left to do is clean my section and stack my chairs, and then I’m home free. Only thing stopping me from doing so is the fact that I have to go to the supply closet right next to Alden’s office. The very same office where I know for a fact he’s holed up doing end of day paperwork and God knows what else.

But, it’s the only way I’m getting out of here, so I need to put on big girl panties—so to speak—and deal with it. Plus, maybe with a little luck, I can creep by really quietly, and he won’t hear me.

I tiptoe through the dining room, probably looking like a cartoon villain, checking over my shoulder every few steps as if he’s going to pop up out of nowhere. I’ve almost made it when he steps out of his office, causing me to shriek. “Jesus, Alden! You scared me!”

He blinks innocently at me, but the spark of delight in his eyes isn’t very convincing. “Did I?”

“Ugh, yes! I about jumped out of my skin.” Luckily the startle has overridden some of my nerves. I better hurry before the effect wears off.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Small Fry. You about done for the night?”

I give him a tight smile and nod. “Yep. Just gotta clean my section.”

He moves past me, grabs the cleaning caddy, and passes it to me. “I’ll help. Two sets of hands are better than one, right?” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him no, but…technically if he helps, I’ll finish faster. And plus, we won’t be able to talk over the vacuum.

“S-sure. Sounds good.” I turn on my heel and head back to start wiping down my tables and chairs. Alden follows, vacuum in tow. I wait to hear the whir of the vacuum, desperate for some sort of noise to drown out his presence. But it never comes.

Determined to ignore the tension blanketing the room, I move to the next table, scrubbing away at a wine stain. “Natalie,” Alden speaks my name, and even though it hits me like a dart, I ignore him.

“Nat, please look at me?” he asks, his voice softer than before.

I’m well on my way to my third table when I feel Alden standing behind me. He’s so close that my body is absorbing the heat from his. If I were to move back even an inch, we would touch. Intent on continuing to ignore him, I vigorously scour the already-clean table.

Displeased with being ignored, he clears his throat. I spin to face him, and he steps into me. I try to move back, but the table digs into my ass, stopping me. “Wh-what do you want?” I whisper, terrified by his nearness and turned on all the same.

“This.”

He cups the back of my neck, pulling my face to his. The next thing I know, his lips are descending onto mine, claiming them in a hungry kiss. He nips at my lower lip, tugging. I open my mouth, intent on stopping him, but he takes it as an invitation and deepens our kiss. His tongue moves against mine in the most sensuous dance, robbing me of my words. He shifts his hand from my nape, trailing his fingers down my spine, settling his hand on my waist, pulling me into him. I gasp as his much-larger-than-I-remember erection brushes against my belly.

That’s all the encouragement he needs. Using his free hand, he threads his fingers through the end of my ponytail and fists my long locks, guiding me to the position he wants me in.

I’m all but ready to rub up on him like a cat against a tree when he pulls away. “What was—” I start to ask, but he shushes me with one last chaste kiss, followed by parting words that cause my heart to drop.

“Head home, I’ve got this.” I start to walk away, and he reaches out and snags hold of my wrist. His touch is like fire and ice all at once. “Oh, and Nat—plan on us picking up where this left off on Saturday.”