by Mia Madison
Her smile is so engaging I can’t help smiling back as she turns to my daughter. “And this must be Sophie. I have a little boy around your age. His name is Logan.”
Sophie regards Izzy uncertainly, not quite withdrawn, but nowhere near as friendly as she was with Vic and Dante. I have a terrible suspicion that my daughter is going to grow up to be a huge flirt. “She’s met a lot of new people today,” I say by way of apology.
“No worries. Logan is more of an introvert too. He’s at home with my mom, so the car seat’s available and I think it’ll work just fine for Sophie. If it’s all right, I thought we could just hang out at my place. We’ve got spare bedrooms, so if you need to put her down for a nap you can. And maybe tomorrow we can hit the kids’ playgrounds in town.”
I start to agree before I remember I won’t be free to go to any parks, because I’ll be working off my car repairs. Izzy is too nice to say anything as I go from a smile to a grimace and back to a smile, this time a stiff, polite one. Dante’s right; I’d make a terrible actor.
“Thanks. That’s really nice.” I give Sophie a quick cleanup job with baby wipes. “Does the bathroom have a changing station?”
“Yeah.” She points. “It’s right back there.”
Five minutes later, I find Gina and tell her I’m ready to settle up. “I thought you were going to be working here,” she says. “To pay off your car repairs?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“We all get free meals as part of our employee compensation. So don’t worry about it.”
Did Vic arrange this whole thing so he could give me free food (at Dante’s behest)? I can’t very well ask Gina if he’s lying about his waitresses leaving him. “Okay. Thanks.” I’ve been saying that a lot today.
“If you’ve never waitressed before, believe me — you’ll earn those meals and need every calorie. This place doesn’t really have downtime.”
“Good to know. Say bye-bye, Sophie.”
Cait, Gina, and Vic all wave goodbye, and I wave Sophie’s little hand back at them. Isabella drives a Subaru station wagon, and the car seat in it is top of the line; I remember it from my research. I get Sophie buckled in, and we’re on the road.
It feels like an eternity ago that I drove into this town, and it’s only been a few hours. Izzy keeps up a stream of light chatter, telling me about the history of the town, pointing out landmarks and places of interest, and generally playing tour guide in a low-pressure way that lets me converse if I want to, but demands nothing.
“So how many Adamos are there?” I ask when she pauses.
She laughs. “A gazillion is about right. Dozens, at least, and probably more. Some of my cousins are into the genealogy and have actual family trees done up.”
We turn onto a wide, leafy street, and Izzy hits the garage opener for a spacious two-story house about halfway down. This is a nice neighborhood, nicer than I’d expect for a young couple. I instantly feel shabby in my thrift-store outfit, but shove those emotions ruthlessly aside.
The garage has a covered breezeway that leads into the house. We enter into a big, airy kitchen and go through to the living room, where a gracious woman in her fifties is playing with a little boy.
“Mom, this is Heather, and her daughter Sophie. Heather, my mom, Elina.”
Sophie chooses that moment to yawn hugely. “Do you want to go ahead and put her down?” Izzy asks.
“I probably should,” I say apologetically.
“It’s all right. You can use this room here.” She shows me to a guest bedroom that’s decorated in light pastels and has a crib along one wall. “We have little cousins or friends over a lot, so we’re set up for extras.”
“This is great. Thanks.”
“If you need to stay with her until she’s asleep, feel free to use the bed.”
I smile at her. “Thanks. I’ll do that; sometimes she’s a little fussy in a new place.”
Once I get Sophie into the crib, I curl up on my side on top of the bedspread. There’s a throw folded at the foot of the bed, and I pull it up over me since the house is air conditioned. I just need to make sure she’s sleeping soundly, and then I can go back out and be a good guest.
I close my eyes -- just to rest them for a moment -- and drop into a deep well of oblivion.
9
Glamorous
When I wake, I’m momentarily disoriented. The room is dim, and it takes a couple of seconds before I know where I am. Switching on the bedside lamp, I lean over the crib to see that Sophie is still sleeping peacefully.
But from the angle of the light through the blinds, we’ve been out for a while. I knew the last week had been a strain on me, but I’m mortified by my bad manners. Tiptoeing to the door, I ease it open and go out to the living room.
Logan and Izzy’s mother are nowhere to be seen. Izzy is on the sofa, and sitting across from her in a wingback armchair that barely contains him is Dante.
He stands up as soon as he sees me. He’s still wearing his jeans and t-shirt, with the addition of a black leather jacket. His dark eyes scan me, but not in a sexual way.
I bet he’s not even attracted to me, and he was just teasing me before, in the café. Because he’s never actually said anything about wanting me too, has he? That moment when I thought he was looking at my mouth was probably because I had a smear of cheese next to it or something. And threatening to spank me was just because he’s bossy, and I only imagined what I heard in his voice.
I’m such an idiot.
“Feel better?” he asks.
Was I acting like I felt poorly? Dammit, I need to stop analyzing everything he says and does. “Fine. Thanks.”
His eyes narrow, but I ignore it. “Thanks again,” I say, turning to Izzy. “I’m sorry we weren’t better company.”
“Not at all. I’m glad you were both able to get some rest.” She gives me a hug, and it almost brings tears to my eyes. I’ve been so alone.
“You’ll both have to come over again,” she continues. “We can go to that park I mentioned, with the playground.”
“Sounds good.” Sophie babbles from the guest bedroom. “Oh, she’s awake. I’ll just go get her up.”
As soon as I come in, she says, “Mama!” She’s sitting up, looking around, no doubt trying to figure out where she is.
“Hello, precious girl. You had a good nap.” I hope it doesn’t mean she’ll be up all night. Lifting her into my arms, I give her a snuggle.
Sophie cuddles against me, still glad to be mommy’s little girl. Holding her as tightly as I dare, I close my eyes and savor the moment, storing it up against the day when she starts to grow up and away from me.
“Pantate, Mama?”
I pick up the diaper bag with one hand and set it on the bed, rooting around for some crackers to tide her over. “We’ll get you some real food in a little bit, okay?” Not that she has any sense of time at her age, but I say the words anyway.
“Need a hand?” Dante says from the doorway. I didn’t even hear him coming. Seriously, how can he be so quiet?
He fills the door frame. As always, his sheer presence dominates everything around him. “I’m good,” I tell him. “I just need to check her diaper. We’ll be out in a minute.”
“Okay. I got all your stuff out of your car; it’s in my SUV.”
A worry I hadn’t even let rise into consciousness eases from my neck and shoulders. “Thanks.” I give him a smile, not a big one, but real.
He goes unnaturally still. For a long moment, we stare at each other. Then Sophie flaps her hand at him and cries “Tontay!” while spraying me with bits of cracker.
It breaks whatever weird little moment was happening between us. I laugh, and his eyes crinkle in amusement. “Don’t let anyone tell you motherhood isn’t glamorous,” I say.
This time, the look in his eyes makes my heart stand still. Then he cocks his head toward the living room, and without another word, leaves as silently as he appeared.
Unsettled, I l
ay Sophie down next to the diaper bag. “Tontay,” she says, her voice plaintive.
“He’s in the living room, honey. He didn’t leave.” And what does it say that I’m reassuring her about a man she’s only been around for a few minutes of her life?
Sophie’s still dry, so I gather everything up and carry her out. Dante takes the diaper bag from me without even asking, and I don’t argue.
“I was hoping my husband would make it home before you left,” Izzy says, “but you’ll have to meet him another time.” We exchange more hugs and goodbyes, then go out to where Dante’s SUV is parked on the street in front of the house.
Sophie’s car seat is set up in the back seat, all properly positioned and fastened, so all I have to do is strap her in. The diaper bag goes next to her, and then I climb in front with my purse.
Once the car is on the move, I remember Vic saying that all the nonnas would be lining up to have us stay with them. Is Dante taking me to one of them, or to his place?
10
My Kind Of House
If I’m honest, I’d just as soon spend tonight with him. It’s been a long day; Sophie and I were on the road at 2 am. Despite my nap, I’m ready for a good night’s sleep.
And Sophie is comfortable with Dante. Already getting attached to him, which worries me, but for tonight, I’d rather not have to introduce her to any more new people.
I tell myself it has nothing to do with my feelings at all. I’m not attached to Dante. He’s just the devil I know.
The area he takes us to is more modest than Izzy’s, but still solid. An older neighborhood, the houses surrounded by mature trees, and with lots of families, judging from the basketball hoops in several driveways.
We go around a curve and turn onto another street. The lots and houses are a little bigger here, the cars and SUVs more recent models. Dante comes to a stop, and I look out the window at the house we’re parked in front of.
“This is your house?” My voice comes out too high.
“Yeah.”
It’s perfect. The kind of house that feels like home to me, a sturdy wooden building with a wraparound porch and flowering bushes all along the front. A huge oak tree shades the front yard.
The whole thing looks tidy and welcoming and … domestic. Not what I would have expected from the man beside me.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Ten years. It was a fixer, but I’m pretty well done restoring it. Why?”
“Just wondering.” I open my door and slide down to the ground. Dante clicks the unlock button for all the doors, and I open the back door so I can get Sophie out.
She’s dozing, but she jerks awake as soon as I start to fiddle with the car seat. “Hi, darling.” I lift her into my arms. “Oof, you’re getting big.”
“I’ll bring your stuff in,” Dante says from beside me. He hands me a keyring, one key protruding. “Go on in and get settled. She okay with dogs?”
I’d started to turn away, but at that I stop short. “You have a dog?”
“Yeah.” He peers at me. “You’re not scared of ‘em, are you?”
“No. I love dogs.” One of my dreams, as soon as Sophie and I are safe, is to get her a puppy, so they can grow up together.
“BeeBee’s a lab mix. She’s good with kids, been around lots of ‘em.” He gestures toward the SUV. “What do you want first?”
“If you could bring her playpen in, that’d be great. I’ll let her explore a little, but I assume the house isn’t childproofed.”
He shakes his head. “Have the family over sometimes, but everyone keeps a close eye on the kids.”
I just nod and start up the sidewalk. There are too many emotions tangling inside of me right now. When I get the front door open and carry Sophie inside, there’s a deep woof before a sleek black shape shoots from the back of the house and wiggles up to us.
“Hi, BeeBee.” I let her sniff my hand, and she licks it hello. “Aren’t you a good girl?” There’s still enough light to see by, so I take my time and look around the interior.
Hardwood floors. Arched doorways. Built-in cabinetry. Not an open floor plan, but rooms that flow easily from one to the next, and lots of windows to let in the light. Through some of them, I see rosebushes growing outside.
Exactly my kind of house.
Kneeling down, I let Sophie and the dog get acquainted. BeeBee is very friendly, but also very gentle, and she and my girl make friends quickly. I set Sophie on her feet, and she immediately starts toddling through the house, inspecting everything, BeeBee at her side. I trail behind them, trying to talk some sense into myself.
I’m in a vulnerable state with everything that’s going on. I’m homeless, and isolated, and looking for stability. Just because Dante has my dream house — my dream life, from the outside looking in — doesn’t mean I can latch onto him as an answer to my problems.
It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair. And he probably doesn’t feel that way about me anyway.
Shoring up the armor around my heart, I follow Sophie and BeeBee into the kitchen. It runs along the rear of the house, but the door at one end leads not to the back yard, but to a closed-in porch. The cabinets are a pale cream yellow, some of them glass-fronted, showing off colorful stoneware.
There’s a big maplewood dining table at one end, and behind it it is a walk-in pantry. The wall toward the front of the house has a professional-grade six-burner stove, a double oven, and an industrial-sized refrigerator. There’s a butcher-block island with an extra sink, and the main sink, with a bay window above it, along a side wall.
On the other side of the refrigerator is another doorway. Sophie and the dog go that way, as if BeeBee is giving her a tour. It leads to a hallway, with a storage closet on one side and a bedroom on the other, and then a bathroom next to the storage closet.
The hallway ends at the living room we first entered. There’s another bedroom at the front of the house. One or the other of them must have its own bathroom attached, since there’s so much space between them.
Dante is on the other side of the living room, where he’s just finishing with getting Sophie’s playpen set up. Glancing at her and the dog, he assures himself that all is well and goes back out to the car. He doesn’t look my way at all.
11
Throw Something
I ignore the pang in my chest. We wouldn’t be a good fit anyway. For all I know, he’s divorced and has kids of his own. Of course he’s not looking to start over with someone my age. Cripes, he may have kids my age.
Unaccountably depressed by this, I snatch Sophie up and go out to get her diaper bag, leaving BeeBee in the house. Dante passes me on the way, my girl’s crib under one big arm as if it weighs nothing at all, her stroller in his other hand.
Grabbing the diaper bag and a rubber bin, I carry them back inside. BeeBee is ecstatic to see us, as if she’s known us since she was a puppy and we’ve been gone for ages. I settle Sophie down in her playpen and start digging out some of her favorite toys.
“I’ll be right back, my love,” I tell her once she’s happily playing with a doll and a stuffed dog, making them talk to each other in words only she can understand. BeeBee whines and tries to lick Sophie through the mesh walls of the pen.
I find Dante in the front bedroom, assembling the crib. The room’s set up as an office, but there’s a door in the back wall. “Both bedrooms share the bathroom?” I guess.
“Yeah. We can leave the doors open so you can hear her easily.”
The we startles me for a moment until I realize he’s just talking about himself and me as the two adults in the house. “Would you like me to make dinner?” It’s the least I can do.
Those dark eyes fix on me. My pulse leaps. “You like to cook?” he asks.
His kitchen is not set up for someone who doesn’t care about food. I shrug, suddenly nervous. “Sure.”
“Help yourself, if you feel like it. No worries if you don’t.”
Overcome by
the sudden urge to prove I’m not just a burden, I transfer Sophie and her playpen to a corner of the kitchen — BeeBee comes with us — and start investigating. Oh, yes; I have everything here, foods and spices and all the random ingredients that serious cooks like to keep on hand.
When Dante comes in, I’m pleased to see he’s got Sophie’s high chair with him. “Oh, great. I was just about to make her a sandwich. Would you mind getting her into that?”
The words come out of my mouth, but I can’t believe I said them. I never let other people do things like that. Too late, though; Dante’s already on the move, setting the chair down, making sure it’s stable, and lifting Sophie from the playpen.
She crows with delight, not at all upset by him holding her, and thwacks him on the chest. He grins, and I get a funny feeling watching him buckle her into the high chair. “Sophie,” I say when he’s done, “would you like peanut butter and jelly, or boloney?”
“Peebur!”
“Want me to move her over by the table?” Dante says. I’d put the playpen on the opposite side of the kitchen, where she’d be out of the way of foot traffic.
“Yes, please.” I quickly put the sandwich together, cut off the crusts, cut the sandwich into small diagonal sections, slice up a carrot and an apple, and look around for non-breakable plates. There aren’t any. “Are you okay with her eating off the stoneware?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Is it fragile, I mean?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think so, but it’s just a plate. I can always buy more.” I stand still, looking at him. “What?”
“Nothing.” I get down a bright blue salad plate, arrange the food on it, and set it in front of Sophie. BeeBee, clever dog, is now under the table, alert for possible spills. “Here you go, darling girl.”
“Tontay,” she calls, and immediately starts trying to feed him.
Such a generous heart, my daughter. I watch them from the corner of my eye as I locate her sippy cup, rinse it out, and put fresh water in it. She hands him pieces of her meal, and he dutifully eats tiny bites of them before handing them back.
