It’s not fair. And it hurts my feelings that he’d put me in this position. That he’d let me do more, full well knowing how important it is to me that we share the work as equally as we’re able.

Grey calls just as we’re walking out of Hello Baby.

“Jules,” he says before I can say hello.

“Hey,” I manage.

“Oh my God, I am so fucking sorry, sweetheart. Shit really hit the fan over at The Champagne Bar this morning. A server stole three cases of Cristal and six of Veuve Cliquot—some of the most expensive stuff we have on the menu. Over ten grand, just gone. The cops came and we filed a report. I was on the phone for a fucking hour with our insurance agent trying to figure out what to do. It was a total clusterfuck. I couldn’t get away, and I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. But I—”

“Had to work,” I reply tightly. “Right.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Look, I really am sorry that happened at the bar. That sucks, and I hate that you had to deal with it. But we’ve had registry shopping on the calendar for months. Olivia and Gracie are here. This is important, Grey. Couldn’t, I don’t know, Ford or that sommelier who owns the bar have handled the situation over there? Why do you always have to be the one on the ground?”

“Because.” He lets out a breath. “This is my company, Julia. I have a lot of people depending on me to get these things right.”

I swallow. Let a beat of uncomfortable silence bloom between us.

“Grey, I’m disappointed. And embarrassed. And angry.”

“I know, I know, and that’s completely fair. I deserve all that and then some. I’m sorry, Julia. Let me make it up to you. Please. I swear I’ll make this right.”

I swallow. “Just like you swore to show up today?”

He lets out a breath. “I deserve that. I mean it this time. Please. Give me another chance. I’ve been sitting on something exciting for a bit—been waiting for the right time to share it.”

“Share what?”

“You’ll see. Can I pick you up in a bit? Your place?”

My turn to let out a breath. I cross one arm over my chest. Glance at Olivia and Gracie. They’re pretending not to listen to my call.

I think about that baseball bat in Gracie’s trunk.

I think about Greyson dancing at Olivia’s wedding.

“Please, Julia,” Grey is saying. “I feel like a fucking idiot. I messed up. I know that. But I want to show you that I am doing my homework—I am doing stuff to get ready for Charlie Brown’s arrival.”

“All right,” I say. “I should be home in an hour or so.”

“I’ll be there.”

Greyson is waiting for me in the driveway when I get back into town. When I climb into his truck, I notice he kind of looks like hell. His hair, usually neatly combed, is a mess. There are purple thumbprints underneath his eyes.