To do that, I remarked, “I think that perhaps the fact that you and I clearly don’t get along would mean that you should shield your children from that.”

“I think the fact that since you’re all grown up, you can be adult enough to act like you like me so my kids who like you can have you over so my girl can cook for you and my boy can talk your ear off,” he returned.

It was frustrating that he was right.

“Fine,” I snapped.

“Right,” he clipped.

“Time?” I gritted out.

“Six,” he bit off.

“Wonderful,” I hissed.

“Terrific,” he ground out.

With that, he hung up on me.

And with that, my head exploded and my thumb moved over my screen, not only programming his number in so I would never be blindsided again by Mickey Donovan, but also so I could tap his number and call his ass back.

Which I did.

“What?” he asked curtly as his greeting.

“I’m not fond of people hanging up on me,” I shared waspishly.

“Noted,” he grunted like he wished he didn’t even have to make that noise while communicating with me.

“I also need to know if you want me to bring anything,” I told him.

“Don’t give a fuck what you do. Knock yourself out,” he told me.

He could not be believed!

“Charming,” I mumbled.

“Got a Ford and a job that means a tool belt hangs on my hips, Amy. Charm’s just not in me. Not a man with an Infinity and bad manners, which means he makes out with a woman on the front step of a house in a family neighborhood.”

He’d seen Bradley and me.

I felt my eyes turn to slits. “You are spying on me.”

“Amelia, you were goin’ at it on your front step,” he returned tersely. “Not hard to see.”

“Don’t look,” I retorted.

“Take that shit inside,” he fired back.

“I will, Mickey,” I snapped.

“Great,” he bit out, sounding like he didn’t think it was great at all. Then he continued, “Since we’re havin’ this loving conversation, please tell me you aren’t sleepin’ in that house tonight.”

That confused me so I asked, “I’m sorry?”

“You are then you’re not,” he informed me. “You’re comin’ over here and sleepin’ in my bed.”

My heart skipped a beat and my knees went weak.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he went on. “But you aren’t sleepin’ in paint fumes. That shit can fuck you.”

Oh God, now he was being his jerky, overbearing brand of sweet.

“I’m on my way to Lavender House,” I assured him.

“Good. So now, heads up, do what you gotta do to prepare, but I’m hanging up.”

Now he was just being a jerk.

“Don’t be a jerk, Mickey,” I snapped.