Gwynneth Ever After by Linda Poitevin Page B

welcome. I won’t stay long, I know you have work to do tonight.”
    “Not nearly as much as I’d have if you hadn’t taken over the kids.” She perched on the edge of the couch, her hands alternately pleating and smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “You’re very good with them, you know.”
    “And they’re very good kids,” he returned lightly. He leaned forward and lifted the teapot from the tray. He poured a little into one of the mugs. “Strong enough for you?”
    Gwyn nodded. He filled her cup, added the bit of milk she requested, and passed it to her. Stirring it, she watched him pour his own. Curiosity finally got the better of her.
    “Do you have any of your own?”
    Gareth raised a dark eyebrow. “Any what?”
    “Kids. You’re so natural with them, I thought maybe...” she trailed off.
    Gareth’s hand hovered over his cup for an instant, holding a teaspoonful of sugar. Then he dumped the white crystals into the milky liquid and stirred. “I’ve never considered myself much in the way of father material,” he said brusquely.
    Surprise made her speak honestly – and without thinking. “Are you kidding? You’d be wonderful!” It occurred to her how her words might sound, coming from a single mother, and she felt her face heat up. “That is – I mean – ”
    Gareth slanted her a crooked, reassuring smile. “I know what you mean. And thank you.”
    The strains of Bach floated into the awkward silence between them. Gwyn rested her elbows on her knees and cradled her cup in her hands.
    “Can I ask you something?” Gareth’s voice sounded studiously casual.
    Gwyn stilled. So they’d come to the personal things at last, had they? She sipped her tea. Well, she supposed she’d started it.
    “Of course.”
    “Where is he now?”
    She didn’t pretend not to understand. “Somewhere on the planet, one would presume,” she said, her voice devoid of expression.
    “He doesn’t see the kids?”
    “Jack isn’t what anyone would consider much in the way of father material.”
    “What happened?”
    Gwyn sent him a sidelong glance.
    “You don’t really want to hear the sordid details of my life, do you?” she asked, in a dry attempt at levity.
    Gareth’s eyes flicked to meet hers, brooding and intense. “Humor me.”
    She held his gaze a moment, then looked down into her cup again. “Jack decided he couldn’t handle the responsibilities of being a father. He went out to get milk one night, a week after Nicholas and Maggie were born, and called three days later to tell me he wouldn’t be coming home again.”
    Gareth frowned. “You must have had problems before that.”
    She snorted softly. “To this day, I can’t remember the slightest warning sign. We had the usual arguments, but I thought things were pretty normal. He was thrilled when Katie was born – took her everywhere with him. And when we found out I was expecting twins, he called everyone he knew to tell them the news. Apparently once they were born, however, he panicked. He said he could have handled one child, maybe even two. But three – especially with twins – were more than he could deal with.” She took another swallow of tea and tried again to lighten the conversation. “See? I told you that you didn’t want to hear the details.”
    Gareth ignored her attempt. “Does he ever ask to see them?”
    “He did once, about a year after he left. My lawyer notified him that I was seeking sole custody and the next day he turned up on the doorstep with his new girlfriend. She wanted to see the kids for herself before they decided whether or not he should sign the papers.”
    Gareth muttered a harsh expletive. Gwyn shot him a wicked grin.
    “Not to worry,” she said. “Nicholas had the flu that day. He threw up all over the girlfriend’s designer suit the minute she picked him up. Two days later, Jack signed over custody.”
    A muscle flexed in Gareth’s tight jaw. “He was an idiot,” he said bluntly.
    Gwyn’s