I’m in shock.
I’m sure my heart stopped beating outside of Tin Anchor when Gage told me that he has a daughter.
I scan the room for a picture of her, but I come up empty.
There’s no artwork or personal items. There’s nothing in here that captures who Gage is except for the light blue knitted blanket hanging over the arm of the black leather sofa.
I walk over to it, studying the wool that has now loosened. I worked on it for weeks before I gave it to him on that Christmas Eve when we ate soup and drank tea and made love in our bed.
It was our last holiday together.
The pad of his bare feet on the floor draws my gaze back to the hallway.
He’s dressed in a black T-shirt and the same jeans he had on earlier. His shoes and socks are gone. A white fluffy blanket is in his hands.
“I have clothes you can change into,” he offers as he shoves the blanket at me. “I put a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt in the bathroom for you. I have a dryer. I can dry your skirt and blouse.”
I look down at my wet clothes and the denim jacket that’s still draped over me. I place the blanket on the sofa so I can slide the jacket off.
The sight of my bra under my blouse flushes my cheeks in embarrassment.
Gage has seen me naked, laid bare and wanting. He’s aware of the freckle below my right breast and the mole that sits just above my hipbone. He used to trace a fingertip over the scar on my left knee. It’s a constant reminder of the surgery I had after a failed landing during a gymnastics class when I was fifteen.
His tender touch always made me feel less self-conscious about it.
I toss the jacket at him and pick up the blanket, wrapping it around me to shield my lingerie from his gaze.
“This is fine,” I say, my voice still quaking. “I can’t stay long.”
I shouldn’t be here at all.
That’s what I should be saying to him, but I let him bring me here because I was in a daze. I was lost the moment he told me that he has a child.
That was something I told him I’d never give him.
Someone else did.
“I’ll make some coffee,” he says, draping the jacket over the back of a chair. He takes a step toward the kitchen before I stop him with a question.
“How old is she?” Tears form in the corners of my eyes.
I tried to convince myself on the taxi ride here that she wasn’t conceived when we were together. If he cheated on me and the result is a beautiful little girl, how can I feel rage at that?
How can I not?
“Nine,” he answers with a soft smile. “My little angel is nine-years-old.”
Chapter 18
Gage
I could see the curiosity in her tear-filled eyes before she asked the question. I knew that as soon as Katie found out about my daughter, that she’d wonder if I cheated on her.
If she only knew that my heart, my soul and yes, my body has only ever belonged to her.
I watch as she taps her thumb against each of the fingers on her right hand. She’s silently counting out the years, trying to determine how old I was when Kristin was born.
Scratching the side of my nose, I fill in the blanks. “When I met Kristin she was four. She was born a few days after my twentieth birthday.”