“Good night, Mommy,” Annabelle says in a sweet voice, and I don’t miss the fact that Jules’ body stiffens slightly.

But she holds still until Annabelle releases her, and when she pulls back she gives the little girl a warm smile. “’Night, pumpkin. Sweet dreams.”

“Okay,” Annabelle says and then turns on her side, tucks her hand under her head and closes her eyes.

Jules turns to look at me as her hand goes to the lamp, and just before she turns it off, my gut clenches when I see the uncertainty rippling through her eyes.

Chapter 6

Jules

I follow Max out of my bedroom, my heart pounding so hard I feel dizzy. Annabelle just called me Mommy and I didn’t have a clue what the fuck to say to it. I’ve been Aunt Jules to them, and they’ve all three continued to call me that when they came to live with me. I think it was a comfort to them somewhat, as it kept it clear in their minds that they had a mommy that loved them very much and there was no pressure for them to feel anything otherwise.

I’m also stunned because while the kids have been with me for a little over four months, we still don’t know each other all that well. Melody lived in Oklahoma and our ability to see each other was stunted on both sides by us each not having the money to travel for visits. As such, I probably saw the kids less than a handful of times in their short lives, so when Melody died, they were coming to live with a virtual stranger.

Thus, I’m completely shocked that Annabelle would consider me to be her mommy right now and I’m dumbfounded by what to do. On top of that, I’m just very, very tired of the pressure that comes with trying to make decisions that don’t fuck their heads up more than what they already are.

And then there’s Max.

Big, beautiful Max walking into my living room and I don’t have any idea what to do with him. Oh, I know there are all kinds of things I want to do with him, but I’m afraid that might be the desperate part of me that wants to grab onto something just for myself, and that’s completely selfish at this point in my life.

When Max hits the middle of my living room, he points to my couch and says, “Sit.”

I blink at him in surprise but his face is so earnest . . . so intent on something . . . I don’t even think to disobey. Besides, my back is killing me from bending over to scrub out the bathtub tonight.

I fall onto the couch heavily, huffing out a sigh of relief to be off my feet.

Max steps into the space between the living room and the cheap coffee table I got at a flea market and sits down on it, facing me. I wince when I see it almost shudder under his weight, but impressively, it holds solid.

He leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees and says, “That bothered you. Annabelle calling you ‘Mommy.’”

I hold his gaze solidly so he gets me. “It didn’t bother me. But it concerns me. I have no clue if that’s appropriate or not. Should I remind her I’m her aunt and not her mom, because I’m terrified that she’ll forget her mom, or should I let her call me what makes her happy?”

“Not sure there is a right answer,” he tells me softly, and oddly . . . that helps. Knowing that he sees how murky these waters are.

I give him a weak smile and nod. “I’m thinking I need to let Annabelle do what makes her feel the most comfortable, and still work hard to keep the memory of Melody alive.”

“I think that’s wise,” he murmurs. “And you’re doing a fantastic job with them for what it’s worth.”

His gaze holds mine. Solid. Caring. Steady.

I can’t figure out for the life of me why this enigmatic man who is famous and rich and hot would be sitting here looking at me this way. It’s as perplexing as everything else in my life, and for once I just wish I could easily identify what the hell is going on so I could deal.

It will take work to figure it out. I wasn’t lying to him when I told him this was a terrible time in my life. And yet, the feeling of comfort I have right now as he gives me validation feels so damn good, I honestly don’t think I could push him away. He’s the first real adult I’ve had in my life for a while, somebody that I don’t need to take care of.

Patting the cushion beside me, I say, “Okay . . . so tell me all about Max Fournier and why in the world he is sitting in my dinky little apartment trying to make me feel good about myself.”

Max’s eyes crinkle with amusement and he pushes his large body off the table, turns and drops down beside me. He’s so big, the cushions depress, and I can’t help that my body tilts toward his, causing our shoulders to come to rest against each other. It would be so damn tempting to just lay my head there on that solid support and close my eyes to rest.

But Max’s soft voice intrigues me and I get caught up by his words. “I’m a total fan of going to the theater, horror movies being my favorite. Not those blood and gore ones, which they’re okay, I guess, but the ones that are suspenseful and have you about climbing out of your skin. I prefer hot dogs over hamburgers, can’t stand onions, and I’m not lying when I say I really do like moonlit strolls on the beach.”

I burst out laughing, angle my head on the cushion to look at him. “Such a cliché.”

“Not if it’s true,” he says in that deep voice that has a slight softness to it, the next word effortlessly starting before the previous one ends.

“You have an accent,” I say in an abrupt change of subject. “I read you’re French-Canadian.”

“Je suis né à Montréal. Mon père est québecois et ma mère américaine, donc je parle couramment les deux langues.”

I give a dramatic, feminine sigh. “I bet you get all the girls to drop their panties when you talk like that, right?”

He leans forward a bit, looks at the lower half of my body with an arched eyebrow and says dryly, “Apparently not.”

I should be tired as hell and not up for witty banter, but damn if he doesn’t energize me with his quick wit and charm. I laugh and turn my face forward again. “But seriously, what did you say?”

“I said you’re not getting in my pants, no matter how much you beg,” he says devilishly.

And I can’t help it, I laugh again.

But then he turns serious. “I said yes, I am French-Canadian and I was born to a French-Canadian father and an American mother.”