Spending time with Tatum last night was all that I imagined it to be and more. The amount of stress and anxiety I felt leading up to it is almost laughable now. That kid is every single good thing in this life all rolled into one. She is so honest and pure—it gets me feeling fuzzy to know she’s mine.

Even after everything with Natalie—and telling her about Mia—I’m still on cloud nine.

What brings me down a little is the thought of calling my parents and breaking the news. But, I know I have to.

The phone rings twice and my mom picks up. “Alden, sweetie. How are you? Is everything okay?”

I guess her Spidey senses must be tingling.

“Good. Uh. Mostly. Is Dad around?”

I hear shuffling and then, “Yes, dear. We have you on speaker.”

“Son. What’s going on?”

“I…I have.” My words break off. Damn, this is harder than I thought. “I have a daughter.”

I met with nothing but dead silence, and then the sound of my mother wailing—if they are tears of sorrow or joy is yet to be determined. “My baby has a baby. Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord, I knew this day would come.” My mom continues on with her emotional rambling.

“Her name’s Tatum. She’s three. And she’s…absolutely amazing.”

My dad steps in as the voice of reason. “Gonna need more information here, son. Such as, how do you have a toddler and with who? Are you sure she’s yours?”

This conversation is going about as well as I thought it would. “Mom, Dad. Listen. N-Natalie Reynolds is her mother and—” I pause. I may not be scientifically sure, but my heart is absolutely certain. “Yes, I’m sure.”

At that, my mom truly goes off the deep end, but I can’t really say I blame her. “Natalie? Little Natalie? Nate’s sister?”

“Yes. That Natalie.”

I hear my dad mumbling, and I know what’s coming next. “You said the girl’s three. That puts you at what, twenty, when she was…conceived? Son, correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s statutory.”

Yep. Called it. I go on to explain the ins and outs of mine and Nat’s incredibly delicate situation. Our conversation is long and, rightfully so, my parents have a lot of questions. I answer them all to the best of my ability, and when we end the call, it’s with the promise of a video chat date soon so that they can meet their granddaughter.

I tried my best not to paint Natalie in a bad light to my parents, but I’m still holding a slight grudge toward her, and I’m sure it shows. I’m trying not to, but fuck, easier said than done.

To make things even more confusing, a few times during dinner tonight, I caught her giving me these looks—on the scale of one to ten with one being awe, that’s sweet and ten being holy shit take me now, she was a solid eight. Which took my brain nowhere good. I guess I get it though. Though things are tense between us, my body still reacts to hers—much to my mind’s dismay. I can’t help it; she’s just so effortlessly sexy. She always has been. Natalie’s the kind of girl that you fantasize about and take home to meet mother—basically, she’s the whole package—you know, aside from being a liar.

But is she really a liar? I mean, on the one hand, fuck yes, she lied to me and everyone about who Tatum’s father was. However, the more I think about it—the more I try and put myself in her shoes—the more I get where she was coming from. And really, it was more of an omission of the truth than an outright lie. Doesn’t stop me from being salty about it, though.

It’s been eight days since I went over to Natalie’s house. To say that things have been tense between us ever since would be an understatement. Hell, I’m pretty sure the tension swirling around us is so thick that everyone in the same vicinity as us can feel it.

The fact that the paternity test results should arrive any day now also has me feeling like I could crawl out of my skin. Which explains why I’m holed up in my office, anxiously waiting for her to arrive for her closing shift. Will she have the results, or won’t she? What’s even more strange is that I think I’m more nervous about seeing her than I am about the test—probably because deep down, I already know the answer.

To make matters worse, my mind keeps reliving our last closing shift together. If I think hard enough, the memory of how her body felt pressed against me and the sear of her lips on mine has my pants growing uncomfortably tight in the crotch.

This shit has to stop, I think to myself, standing and stalking into the kitchen. My head chef, Darren, shoots me a wry look when I walk in. “What brings you out of the cave tonight, boss?”

“Got a new recipe I want to sample Friday night. If it does well, I want to add it to the menu.”

His expression immediately transforms. Excitement lights his eyes. “No shit?” He turns to his sous. “Javier, cover me?”

“Yes, chef,” Javier calls back.

Darren wastes no time huddling up with me where I dive into the nitty-gritty of my new dish. “I want to make Friday night more upscale—a romantic and cozy date-night kind of thing. Not just a meal, but a destination, an experience.”

Darren’s eyes are filled with intrigue. “But I also want to highlight our local and regional cuisine.”

“I’m down with all of that, but get to the good stuff, Boss.”

I laugh, appreciating his straightforwardness and passion. “Okay, check it, I want to do a small, intimate tasting Friday night. Fresh fish, blackened shrimp, collard greens cooked with Conecuh sausage, red rice, and a Cajun cream sauce.”

“I’m down with all of that. You gonna be able to get the fish in time?”

“Yeah, I talked to the market. I’ve been toying with this idea for a while.”

“What made you pull the trigger?” he asks, but judging from his tone, I’m not sure how much he actually cares.

“I…the new menu has been doing well, and it just felt like the right time.” Not to mention, I fucking need a distraction like he wouldn’t believe. Then again, maybe he would. I mean, my entire staff knows mine and Nat’s dirty laundry. Luckily, Carlos threatened their asses and told them they would continue to act professional or else. Guess their fear of him outweighs the juicy gossip my impromptu office meeting created.

“Yeah, okay, Boss.”

“Bring the crew up to speed. I’ll prep the front of house.” We bump fists and I pivot to head back to my office, only to run smack into Natalie.

And I mean that literally. The momentum of our collision sends her sprawling backward, but thanks to my stellar reflexes, I’m able to catch her with an arm around her waist just in time, leaving us in a tango-esque dip. The only thing missing is a rose clenched between my teeth.

I reach my free hand forward and grab her shoulder, hauling us both upright. We remain locked in our semi-embrace for far longer than necessary. In fact, neither of us moves a muscle—I don’t even think we breathe—until Darren coughs…loudly.

And just like that, the spell is broken. Natalie jumps away from me as if I’m a bonfire and she’s a highly combustible solution. Ha. Highly combustible. If that doesn’t describe us, I’m not sure what does.

“Jesus! Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Nate texted me.”

“It’s all good,” I say to her. “Plus, I wasn’t exactly watching where I was going, either. No worries.”

Her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink. “Can we talk really fast?” she asks.

“In a bit. Right now, I need you to go ahead and get clocked in” She looks crestfallen, and I feel like an ass, but somehow I know she has the test results with her and me…I just need some time to compose myself.

“Yeah. Sure. Okay.” She scurries around me, and as much as I hate to admit it, my eyes stay glued to her ass—her plump, juicy, bitable ass—until she’s out of view.

I start again to head for the door when someone else stops me…Darren this time. “Hey Boss!”

“Yeah?”

He snorts out a laugh. “Real smooth.”

I shake my head and walk away; I’m not dignifying that with a response. I mean, it’s not like I was trying to be smooth. It’s not like I even want to be smooth around her. Even if she is my greatest temptation—much to my chagrin. She’s also my biggest weakness—just look at my inability to stay mad at her. Maybe that’s due in part to her being the mother of my child? Fuck if I have a clue. All I know is with every day that passes, my anger decreases.

I’ve managed to avoid Natalie for most of her shift. Pathetic, I know. But, I swear it’s like she’s out to make me crazy. From the feel of my hands on her body earlier, as innocent as it was, to the narrow indent of her waist before the sinful flare of her hip…damn, it’s all I can think about. Which is truly insane, seeing as I should still be upset with her—not lusting after her.

It doesn’t help that the first time we crossed paths after her shift started, she was walking in front of me a few paces and dropped her order book. She bent to retrieve it, presenting me with the sweet apple of her ass, and, oh my God, I almost came in my pants. Honestly, I think it’s the universe punishing me for not manning up and talking to her when she asked.

After that incident, I confined myself to my office, only leaving if absolutely necessary. The fact that I’m hiding out in here pisses me off. This isn’t the kind of owner I want to be. My style is hands-on and elbows deep, yet here I am cowering in my office because I’m too chicken shit to face the truth.

Sitting at my desk, I stew. It feels like we’re engaged in some form of silent warfare. Logically, I know the notion is insane and completely a figment of my over-agitated and under-sexed imagination. But my heart’s not listening to my brain. The muscle in my chest refuses to take this war sitting down and wants retribution. My heart, the foolish bastard, screams what right does she have to dump the shit she did on you and then prance around looking like every wet dream you’ve ever had?

Finally, I decide I’m being ridiculous. In an effort to prove to myself just how crazy I’m being, I head out to the floor. Only, right as I step out of my office, Natalie walks past me toward the kitchen, her hips swaying like a pendulum.

Covertly, I watch as she enters the kitchen, all the while trying to convince myself not to follow her, but I’m helpless to resist her pull. When I enter the kitchen, my little lying temptress is leaning forward with her elbows propped on the counter and her ample cleavage shining like a beacon to every red-blooded male in the kitchen.

The thought of my kitchen crew checking her out has me seeing red. “The hell are y’all sitting around for? I’m not paying y’all to gossip.”

Natalie straightens, but it’s Darren that speaks. “Nat was just paying compliments to the kitchen from one of her tables.”

“Great and now you know. So.” I wave my hands, shooing them. “Get back to work. And Natalie, why don’t you button your shirt up a little more.”

She sputters, shocked by my words, before turning and stomping out of the kitchen.

I pinch my eyes shut in frustration, fully aware I’m acting like a psychotic jackass. When I blink them open, my entire kitchen crew is staring at me—probably wondering if I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown…well boys, the jury’s still out.