The Magnolia Sisters (Magnolia Sisters #1) - Michelle Major Page 0,7
was on his own with no domestic or personal beauty skills to help ease the sting of Stacy’s latest stunt.
He came around the edge of the sofa and lowered himself to the carpet next to Violet. “Nana said you wouldn’t eat dinner tonight.”
“She put broccoli in the mac ’n’ cheese,” Violet told him, as if that explained everything. Which it kind of did.
“Yuck.”
“Did she do that when you were little?”
“Probably,” Gray admitted. “Your nana was always trying to get Uncle Chase and me to eat healthier. Just so you know, she does it because she loves you.”
His heart pinched as the girl’s chin trembled. “Why doesn’t Mommy love me?”
“She does, sweetie.” He opened his arms and she climbed in, burying her face against the front of his T-shirt. “Your mom loves you so much, but you know how busy she gets at work. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
A statement both true and not. Stacy was selfish to the point of narcissism, which was completely out of his and his daughter’s control. But that didn’t mean a five-year-old could or would understand. To Violet, it felt like a rejection and Gray hated his ex-wife for it.
“She was going to fancy braid my hair tomorrow.” Violet sniffed. “Margo’s mommy can do a Dutch braid, and I told her mine could braid even better.”
“Better than a Dutch braid?” Gray whistled appreciatively even though he had no idea what a Dutch braid was. His mom had raised two boys and still sported the same low-maintenance bob from his childhood. He couldn’t imagine she’d be any help. “That’s a tall order. Maybe I can try in the morning?”
Violet lifted her head and gazed up at him with those melted chocolate eyes. “Daddy, you’re a terrible braider.” She patted his cheek and the soft touch practically undid him. If it took an entire night of watching YouTube videos, he’d learn to braid. “When is Carrie coming back?”
He had no doubt his neighbor could have helped with the hair dilemma, although he hated relying on her. He’d known Carrie since kindergarten, and there had never been a spark of attraction on either of their parts in all these years. She was sweet and generous with Violet because it was her nature, but he didn’t want to take advantage. Carrie already had plenty of that in her life.
“I don’t think—”
His answer was interrupted by the sound of the carriage house’s door opening.
“Carrie!” his daughter shouted and jumped up from his lap. “Who are you?” she demanded a moment later, her feathery brows furrowing.
“Who are you?” a feminine voice answered, somehow familiar to Gray but definitely not Carrie.
He quickly straightened and felt his jaw go slack at the sight of the woman glaring at him from inside the front door. The same woman who’d given him hell at the gas station this morning.
Glancing from her face to the pocket-sized can of pepper spray she’d pulled from her purse, Gray tugged Violet closer to his side. “You’re not Carrie,” he said and mentally congratulated himself for his mastery of the obvious.
“But this is her place,” she answered. “What are you doing here?”
“My daddy owns this house,” Violet said, her jaw jutting forward. “Carrie is our friend. You can’t be here.”
Gray stifled a groan. Violet usually redirected her anger toward Stacy at Gray or his mother, and they were both adept at defusing the girl’s temper. Apparently, it was now transferring to this stranger, and by the way her sea-glass-blue eyes narrowed, she wasn’t in the mood to be so patient.
“There’s clearly been a misunderstanding,” he said, lifting his arms, palms out.
“Are you Carrie’s landlord?” the woman demanded.
“I am.”
“And her boyfriend?”
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
She gave a sharp laugh as if she didn’t believe him, and he wasn’t sure why that bothered him so much. “Then get out.”
“You get out,” Violet shot back. “Carrie lives here. Not you.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation, pipsqueak...” The woman moved forward, yanking