in a high chair.
No doubt, the poor kid was going to grow up subjected to constant PDA because I couldn’t help myself. Leaning up and over the entire table, I kissed her soft and slow, just little plucks of her lips, the tiniest fleck of my tongue. “Mmmm . . . cotton candy.”
She giggled against my mouth. “You like?”
Felt the words vibrating my skin.
“Very much. And did you just quote the definition of speculating to me?”
She giggled some more, this sexy tremor that rolled down my throat. I angled back so I could take in her eyes and her face and that mouth. “I might have. Seemed you were having trouble figuring out its meanin’.”
“No trouble. I was just disagreeing.”
“Okay, so my daddy used to be a tad bit overprotective. He’s over that now.”
“He glared at me over his beer the entire barbecue and didn’t say one word to me.”
Frankie turned serious, her hand brushing through Everett’s hair, her gaze on him so soft before she was turning it on me. “Honestly? He is protective, Evan. And you know what, that’s a good thing. I’d much rather have parents who care than ones who don’t give it a second thought. And after Jack . . .”
Anger flared at his name.
“I think he’s worried about what I’m getting myself in the middle of,” she admitted. I could tell her voice dropped with the admission.
I got that. Respected it. Hell, I was still worried that I was getting her in the middle of something that she shouldn’t be in myself. But like I’d promised her—I was over making that decision for her.
AND EVERETT? I asked, feeling my teeth clench at the thought of someone rejecting him.
Confusion knitted her brow. “How could anyone not love him, Evan? Stop worrying.”
I blew out a reluctant sigh and then I let a grin tug at one corner of my mouth. “Maybe I could buy your dad off?”
She rolled her eyes. “If you really want him to hate you, then go for it. Believe me, he cares about your money about as much as I do.”
I laughed. SO MONEY WON’T WIN ME ANY POINTS. WHAT WILL?
Everett had his hand wrapped around her finger, and she was swinging it around, making him laugh.
But she was looking at me. “I think the only thing you have to do is love me. The rest is goin’ to fall in line.”
Ten minutes later, we’d cleaned our table and gathered our things. Everett was getting sleepy, the evening coming on fast, and he pretty much slumped down on my shoulder when I pulled him out of his high chair.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Frankie must have heard it because she reached for Everett. “Here, let me take him.”
He cuddled onto her shoulder, taking a big handful of her hair and rubbing it on his face. Apparently, he liked Frankie about as much as I did.
I touched his cheek, sent her a smile as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and thumbed into it so I could check the text.
Seth: Hey, man, wanted to touch base about the situation. I’m 99.9% sure Jack is not the one responsible for the letters or any of the paintings.
Dread curled in the pit of my stomach.
I think I’d been just as sure. This sense that something was off. Still, I’d been hoping.
Praying it was something as simple as that.
Jealousy.
A man scorned.
That I could handle.
Could feel Frankie’s unease from the side, the way she was trying to make sense of what was going on.
Another text buzzed through.
Seth: I’ve dealt with bad guys my whole life, and I’d bet the deed on my house that he didn’t do it. He seemed completely oblivious to any messages being left, and he was all too keen to admit to being responsible for the fight. Said he was pissed and lost his temper.
Seth: There’s no evidence to think otherwise and my gut says he’s telling the truth.
My nod was slow, like he could see my response.
Seth: Sorry I don’t have better news. I’m changing the focus of the investigation to his mother. Now that you have proven paternity, I can get in front of a judge and get an order to dig into her records. Hang tight, man. Let me know if you see ANYTHING that doesn’t sit right.
I looked up at Frankie who was watching me close. “What is it?”
“It wasn’t Jack.”
Fear streaked through her features. “Are you . . . sure? I . . . I