The Magnolia Sisters (Magnolia Sisters #1) - Michelle Major Page 0,12
from her manner, she’d use any detail she could gather to her own advantage.
“You’ll figure it out,” he said, grabbing Violet’s lunch box from the refrigerator. She’d be down any minute and ready to head out to show off her new braids.
“Why did Violet’s mother stand her up last night?” Avery asked softly.
“She was busy,” he mumbled, disgust at his ex’s maternal apathy squirming along his skin like a thousand cockroaches. Making excuses for Stacy was becoming second nature. “She’s a doctor and had a patient with an emergency.”
“What kind of doctor?”
“A cosmetic dermatologist.”
“Emergency Botox?” she asked with a sniff.
Despite his anger, Gray chuckled. “Maybe. She’s a real piece of work.”
“How long have you been divorced?”
“Over a year.” He placed his mug on the counter when he felt his fingers begin to shake. “But things were off track longer than that. My fault. Stacy didn’t want...” He broke off, shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now and you probably don’t care about the details of my broken marriage.”
Her chest rose and fell as if she was having trouble catching her breath. When her mouth opened, he wanted her to contradict him—to tell him that she did care. Stupid on his part. He’d been on his own too long if he had to imagine a bond with a woman who wasn’t in town under the best of circumstances. Not to mention that she didn’t seem to like kids and Violet was the most important thing in his world.
She set down her mug and flashed the sorriest excuse for a smile he’d ever seen. “Not really,” she said airily. “But thanks for the coffee. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying here but try to keep your kid out of the carriage house while I’m around. Unlike my sister, I’m not sweet or the type to be universally loved.”
No doubt, Gray thought as he nodded. He should have been relieved by her caustic words. Her bad attitude would make it easy to keep his distance. But, damn, if he didn’t hate watching her walk away.
CHAPTER FOUR
AVERY PULLED INTO the driveway of the enormous, almost antebellum-style house, checking the Fig Street address Carrie had given to her one more time.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected of Niall Reed’s home, but this structure seemed like a smaller, slightly more cared-for cousin of the famous Grey Gardens mansion. Vines trailed around the balusters of the front porch and the yard was badly in need of mowing. The stately home was painted a pale cream, or perhaps the color would be more aptly described as dingy white.
The bones of the house were still impressive, with columns framing the porch and black shutters flanking the tall windows. She could imagine the house had once been the jewel of the town. From what she was coming to understand about her biological father, she had no doubt he reveled in what the house communicated about his status in the community.
This was where Carrie had been raised. Jealousy spiked in Avery, even though she knew Niall’s one legitimate daughter was as much of a victim as her and Meredith. That was difficult to remember as she stepped into the quiet of this picturesque street.
Growing up in a sterile condo in downtown San Francisco, Avery had always wished for a yard and trees to climb. She’d imagined having a swing hanging from a hundred-year-old tree branch, much like the one swaying slightly in the breeze in the center of the yard.
Her father had owned her dream house, or close to it. Granted, the style was a bit lord-of-the-manor for her taste, as well as something of a cliché, since the home had been built atop a gently sloping hill. That put it higher than the other houses in the neighborhood, as if Niall had been the king of everyone around him. She could imagine that fit well with his image of himself.
Had she gotten her taste for traditional style and overly romanticized daydreams from her father? As a kid, it seemed normal that she’d fantasize about manicured lawns and white picket fences. Weren’t those the stuff of the American dream? Not that Avery’s