insisted on Sundays off so I could spend a whole day with Ben. I was taking a chance including that demand in my contract, since most chefs work seven days a week, including holidays. But Jeremy agreed, and I have a wonderful sous-chef as well as an excellent staff to cover me.”
“Those are long hours,” he murmured. “How did you juggle the job and a new baby in California?”
“Let’s just say I haven’t slept a full night for over two years,” she replied dryly. “But I leaned a lot from my sister and her family. They were invaluable. Now I have a babysitter for Ben, and my parents take him often, as well.”
“I have another proposition for you to consider. Let me take Ben while you’re at work.” He shifted toward her, forestalling her instinctive objection. “My schedule is more flexible than yours. When you leave for work, you can drop him off to me. The office has a day care for all of our employees. So I can visit him throughout the day. And after I leave, we can come over to the restaurant and have dinner with you on your break.”
She blinked, stunned into silence.
How many times had she wished that her parents would offer to bring Ben by her job so she could see him? Being a single mother with a very demanding job, she constantly battled the guilt of not being there enough for her son. Of missing out on so many little things—like his giggle at a TV show or cuddling with him at bedtime. Building her career wasn’t just for her success or fame; it was for Ben, too. She not only desired to provide for him, but to show him that no dream, no goal was too far or big for him to achieve. Even more than being a master chef, she hoped to be her child’s inspiration.
But being his inspiration sometimes cost her time with him. Precious time.
“I—” She cleared her throat. “If you’re sure it wouldn’t be an inconvenience...”
“My son could never be an inconvenience.”
His son. Not her.
Good. She was glad he said that. It served as a reminder that their sole connection was the child they had together.
“Thank you, then.” She wrapped both hands around the bowl of her wineglass. “We can do that.” Lowering her gaze, she studied the ruby depths as if it were a scrying glass. “I’m afraid to trust in this,” she whispered, the confession slipping from her without her conscious permission.
“In this...or in me?”
She jerked her gaze up, meeting his shuttered scrutiny. Retreat, a voice hissed. Retreat into casual chitchat and surface topics. Because those subjects didn’t tread on ground she’d burned long ago.
“Both.” Dammit.
“I asked you before, but you didn’t answer.” He swirled the wine in his glass, but his unwavering stare remained on her. “You let your anger go with your parents, for Ben’s sake. Have you done the same with me?”
“Have you?” she shot back, yes, avoiding that question. It was too loaded...too dangerous. Pitted with minefields she dreaded maneuvering.
Several seconds ticked by where only the crackle of logs burning in the cavernous fireplace filled the space. She waited with bated breath, every part of her clamoring for his reply.
“Yes,” he said. “Knowing the circumstances and knowing you didn’t intentionally keep me from Ben, I’m not angry anymore.”
“Liar.” Good Lord, her mouth had launched a rebellion, and she couldn’t bring it back under control.
Ross arched an eyebrow. Didn’t speak. But his eyes... No longer shadowed, they gleamed with—what? Surprise? Anger? Something darker...hunger?
“A part of you will always blame me for missing the first couple of years with Ben. But that’s not even what you’re lying about.”
“Really? Enlighten me then, Charlotte.”
“You still haven’t forgiven me for leaving in the first place,” she said brazenly. “Before you knew about Ben, you seethed with that anger, Ross. And it didn’t just disappear.”
Deliberately, Ross set the glass down on the end table. He stretched an arm out along the back of the couch, and the other settled on his thick thigh, long fingers splayed wide. But he didn’t look at her, his attention seemingly transfixed on the fireplace’s dancing orange-and-red flames.
“You think you know me? That’s presumptuous of you, isn’t it?” he murmured, no rancor in his low voice, but she caught the edge. Sharp enough to leave stinging cuts.
“I knew you better than most,” she said, and at her words his head turned toward her, and the icy shock of his wintry blue gaze slicked