by Maggie Wells
“I did. And I like aunts fine,” Colm assured him.
“Maybe she’s not Emma’s mommy, but she could be someone else’s mommy. You could like her, and you wouldn’t hafta be so crabby all the time.”
The hopeful speculation on Aiden’s face nearly tore Colm’s heart out. “I’m not crabby all the time,” he retorted in a voice gruff with emotion.
“Are, too,” Aiden mumbled as he gathered more pancake.
“I don’t mean to be.”
“Butcha are.”
Before Colm could comment on the kid’s smart mouth, Aiden filled it again. He waited and watched until the coast was clear, then covered Aiden’s hand with his.
“I’m sorry. I’ll try not to be crabby all the time.”
Aiden nodded and he released the boy’s hand with a squeeze.
“Maybe you should go tell her you’re sorry and make up with her.”
A flash of indignation heated Colm’s blood, but he ignored the impulse to argue. Giving up on his breakfast, Colm pushed his plate aside. “Things are more complicated than that, buddy.”
Aiden blinked owlishly. “Why?”
“Well, first, I’m not the one who needs to be sorry,” he said patiently.
Aiden shifted from eating to mutilation mode in the blink of an eye. He’d stabbed the remainder of the stack repeatedly. Colm reached over and plucked the fork from his hand.
Unfazed, Aiden looked up. “Did she say she was sorry?”
“Yeah, but—”
“A ’pology is a ’pology,” Aiden said in the same stern tone Colm had used on him countless times. “Shake hands and be friends again.”
Colm bit his lip and turned away. This wasn’t the first time his son had thrown his own words at him, but, for some reason, this particular message stung. He sat stunned for a moment. Bored with the conversation, Aiden had pulled out his Princess Clarissa doll and was having the doll do death-defying backflips off the table onto the seat.
Cocking his head to the side, he stared at the boy across from him, wondering why he’d thought he needed to hide anything from him. Aiden was his best friend. Had been since the day the doctors placed him in his arms. Once, his infant son had been the keeper of all the worries of a frightened father. His midnight confessor. Aiden was the one person on Earth who knew every single truth about him…and loved him anyway.
Because everyone had secrets. And things they were afraid to say out loud for fear of losing something or someone they wanted desperately.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Colm reached across the table to save the doll from yet another harrowing tumble. “So, you think I should go talk to her?”
Aiden shrugged again, but this time Colm didn’t mind as much. This shrug looked like a stamp of approval to him.
Taking is as such, he snatched the ticket from the table and started to slide from the booth. “Okay. Let’s go hose you down, then we’ll see if Monica wants to shake hands and be friends again.”
Aiden craned his neck as he practically fell out of the booth. “After, can we go to the park?”
Chapter 12
Monica camouflaged the circles under her eyes as best she could, and blow-dried her hair into submission. Phone clutched to her ear, she stood in front of her closet, trying to decide what kind of outfit a woman wore to eat a heaping helping of crow. “You’re sure he’s not there?” she asked for the fourth time.
Her sister didn’t even sigh. With the kind of patience that was a testament to the power of “om,” she replied, “I’m sure.”
“You remember what he looks like?”
“Tall, dark, and Irish, like a good glass of beer. He’s not here, Mon.”
“Did you check by the sand pit thingy?”
Mel chuckled. “Yes, I checked the sand pit thingy. He’s not here. And before you give me three more suggestions, let me give you a little more info to lay grounds for the deductive reasoning which has led me to this conclusion. There are no guys here today.”
“None?”
“Well, not the tall one with the redheaded twins, or the one with the little girl. I checked in with the Mommy Mafia and reports are the Saturdaddies are a no-show today.” She paused for a beat. “At least, the hot ones aren’t here. A couple who aren’t as decorative are, but there’s no fun in checking them out, according to Kandi Kardashian.”
Monica yanked the first shirt she groped from its hanger. “Kandi Kardashian? Is there a secret sister?”
“Okay, she’s not really a Kardashian, but she did tell me her name was Kandi with a K, and with a little black hair dye, we could drop her into the mix. Ten bucks says no one notices.”
“Wow. And here I was thinking you were the Queen of Zen. Can I pour you a saucer of milk?”
“No, thank you,” Melody answered primly.
Monica sighed and looked down at the shirt in her hand. It was a plain black T-shirt, but she could have bought her sister a half-dozen champagne brunches for what the brushed cotton cost. Or fed a few dozen hungry kids pancakes. God, what an utterly selfish creature she was. She swallowed the lump clogging her throat, but the faint taste of regret lingered on her tongue.
“I have to go. Ems is tired of playing super-spy and wants to hit the swings.”
“Okay. Thanks for checking for me. I’d totally vote to make you the next Bond.”
Her sister snorted. “I don’t have the bikini body to be a Bond girl anymore.”
“Not a Bond Girl—Bond. James Bond.” She paused to let the concept sink in. “Melody Bond. The kickass international spy who infiltrates the upper echelons of national security by posing as a mild-mannered mommy.”
“Jeremy would laugh his behind off if he heard you describe me as mild-mannered.”
“No, he wouldn’t. He’s too scared you’ll crush him between your powerful thighs.”
“They are strong,” Melody mused, huffing a little as she walked.
Knowing delay tactics weren’t going to help her out in any way, Monica forced a weak smile, because she had no doubt her sister’s super-spy powers meant she could see through the phone. “Thanks again.”
“I love you, Mon, even if you are a giant fibber.”
“I love you, too. Even if you shake your martinis instead of stirring them.” She paused. “You shouldn’t, by the way. Shaking bruises the gin,” she said in her best know-it-all voice.
“Hanging up,” Melody sang into the phone. “Go forth and try to be a productive member of society. And lay off the fruit snacks. They aren’t really fruit, you know,” she added, mimicking Monica’s uppity tone.
The call ended, and Monica let her hand fall to her side as if the phone weighed a hundred pounds.
Clad in only a bra and panties, Monica pursed her lips as she studied the overpriced designer T-shirt. What in the world had possessed her to spend so much on one top? Unable to reason away her impulse buys, she yanked the shirt from its hanger. A pair of slim-fitting jeans, a long sweater, and some loafers completed her ensemble. She turned toward the mirror in her walk-in closet. She looked casual, but chic. The colors were even subdued. She had atonement on her mind. And atonement meant she needed to spring into action. Or shuffle. She didn’t really have the energy for springing.
Shoving her phone into the pocket of the jeans, she left the walk-in without adding so much as a necklace or a pair of earrings. Only the worthy accessorized. The leather soles of her shoes slapped the polished wood stairs. Her briefcase and handbag lay exactly where she’d left them. She should pull out her tablet and make up for a little of the work she’d blown off, but the prospect didn’t appeal. She looped her hand through the straps of her purse and pulled her keys from the fragile glass bowl she treated so cavalierly.
One way or another, she had to get Colm to at least listen to her apology.
Hiking her purse high
on her shoulder, she flipped the locks on the door, reset the alarm system, and backed out of the house, the beeping becoming more insistent as she slid her key into the lock. She gave the deadbolt a hard twist, but rather than the thunk of the tumbler falling into place, she heard a bright, chipper, “Hi!”
Monica whirled to find Colm and Aiden standing at the foot of her steps. Pressing her hand to her racing heart, she leaned against the door. “Oh!”
The little boy’s smile started to fade as his hand fell to his side, and she stumbled over herself in her rush to reclaim the happy greeting.
“Hi!” she blurted too loud. A blip of a laugh escaped her as her gaze darted from son to father and back again. “You startled me.”
Aiden nodded in silent acceptance of her explanation, but his expression clearly read, “No, duh.”
Straightening away from the door, she gave the hem of her shirt a nervous tug. “Hi! Hello,” she babbled. Drawing a steadying breath, she tried to tap what composure she owned, but any calm she might claim was nowhere to be found. “What are you…?” She stopped, not wanting to scare them off with questions. Reeling, she ran her fingers through her hair, tried to hitch her purse even higher, then gave up, letting her hand flutter uselessly to her side. “I’m glad to see you.”
Colm said nothing, which totally freaked her out. Shouldn’t he be saying something? After all, he and his trusty sidekick showed up at her door, not the other way around. Sure, she’d been heading to his house, but maybe she should go ahead and start—
“We came to ’pologize and shake hands,” Aiden announced, breaking into her frantic thoughts and trampling his father’s stony silence.
Monica watched, her heart in her throat, as the beautiful boy turned to look up at Colm.
“Right, Daddy?”
Time stood still for a second. Colm nodded, his eyes never straying from Monica. “Right.”
“Apologize?” Monica shook her head so hard her hair whipped her face. “No, I should—”
Colm climbed three steps and extended his hand. “I’m sorry. I should have given you a chance to explain.”
Tears scorched Monica’s eyes, but she blinked to keep them at bay. Rushing down a couple steps, she grasped his hand in hers. “No, I’m sorry. I should have told you who I am. The whole thing was stupid.”
He didn’t loosen his grip, so neither did she.
“Now you can be friends again,” Aiden informed them gleefully.
Monica looked down to find him hopping from step-to-step, his favorite doll clutched tightly in his hand. She chanced a look at Colm. “Can we?”
“Yep!” Aiden interjected. “And now we can go to the park.” He paused on the top step and looked down at her. “You wanna go, too?”
“To the park?” She repeated the invitation without moving. The last thing she wanted was for Colm to notice he hadn’t let go of her hand. “Sure,” she said cautiously. “If your dad is okay with me coming along.”
“Fine by me,” Colm answered, preempting Aiden’s prod.
“Yay!” Arms stretched over his head in victory, Aiden bent his knees, his eyes gleaming bright in anticipation of a massive jump. “Watch thi—”
“Don’t even,” Colm snapped.
He snatched his hand from her grasp to corral his kid, but Monica was feeling too relieved to be annoyed by the loss. If Colm hadn’t, she would have grabbed Aiden herself.
Once he placed the little boy safely on the sidewalk, he looked up and offered his hand to her again, his green eyes bright as spring leaves. “Shall we?”
“Yes.” She tossed her keys into her bag and flew down the stone steps. “Melody and Emma are there. If we hurry, maybe you guys can play a while,” she told Aiden in a rush of breath.
The little boy nodded. “Cool.”
Aiden danced around, clearly antsy to get the show on the road. But when she reached the sidewalk, Colm changed the offer of his hand to a shake.
“Hi. I’m Colm Cleary.” He reached over, and without taking his eyes off her, stopped Aiden’s whirling with a palm planted atop his head. “I’m a single dad, and this is my son, Aiden.”
Baffled, Aiden said, “But she knows us already.”
Monica nodded, a small smile curving her lips. “Right, but you guys don’t know me.” Squaring her shoulders, she looked Colm directly in the eye. “Monica Rayburn, single workaholic with a sister who thinks she’s Jiminy Cricket and a fairly awesome niece.”
“Emma,” Aiden interjected. He tugged hard on Colm’s arm to get his father’s attention. “Her niece is Emma, and she’s at the park.”
“And we’re off,” Colm announced, gesturing for Aiden to lead the way.
Monica’s cheeks burned with pleasure when he shifted her hand to his other and held fast as they fell into step behind the excited boy. Monica watched with amused bewilderment while Aiden skip-hopped over cracks in the sidewalk and twirled at unmarked intervals. “I don’t know much about kids,” she said in a low voice, “but I think I like yours. What you see is what you get, huh?”
“Calls ’em like he sees ’em.” Colm chuckled, but in the next breath, he was on the job. “A big whoa at the corner, buddy,” he called to Aiden.
“I know, Dad,” Aiden called, his voice dripping with impatience.
“That’s new,” Colm murmured to Monica.
Turning to look at him, she found him frowning. “The tone?”
He nodded. “Yes, and the ‘Dad’ instead of ‘Daddy.’ I’m not sure I’m ready for the change.”
“Happens fast, huh?”
Colm’s steps slowed as he turned to look straight at her. “Seems like all the best things happen fast.”
Her breath caught in her throat, but he didn’t give her a chance to weigh in on his observations.
“Life has one hell of a learning curve.”
She nodded as they stopped at the street corner. “Yeah, it does.”
They checked both ways, then herded Aiden safely to the other side. As if he had an inner GPS urging him on to his destination, Aiden picked up his pace even more. They covered the remaining three blocks in silence, but with her hand tucked firmly in Colm’s.
Aiden pranced in place while they waited for the traffic light to change. When the walk signal finally illuminated, Colm grabbed the neck of Aiden’s sweatshirt to restrain him. “Says walk, not run.”
“Dad-dy,” Aiden whined, straining against their more sedate pace. “Leggo.”
“Nope. Never. You’re mine forever,” Colm answered, a smile in his voice.
The second they reached the opposite curb, Aiden twisted from his grip and took off running through the carpet of autumn leaves. He stumbled, fell, and tumbled laughing through the crisp foliage, calling for them to do the same.
“Wow, such a fast never,” she commented, grinning at the little boy’s antics.
“Never always comes too fast, and forever isn’t always built to last.”
Stopping, she turned to face him. “But here we are.”
“Here we are,” he concurred.
“I know next to nothing about kids, Colm, but I’m smart…I can learn.”
He smiled and stepped closer, sliding his hand onto her hip to draw her in. “I’m glad you’re so smart. Do you know how many people have called me an idiot lately?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Almost everyone I know.”
“Do you know a lot of people?” she asked, his nearness leaving her breathless.
“Enough.”
“Do you want to get to know me?”
He sighed. “I’ve been trying to all along, Monica.”
She ducked her head, heat creeping up her neck into her cheeks. “So maybe I’m not as smart as I think?”
“I think we’ve got a lot to teach each other.”
Relief warmed her insides while big piles of leaves were plowed up around her feet. “I’m going to need a crash course on this kid thing. I haven’t exactly been the most hands-on aunt.”
“I think we could set one up.”
“You’ll be teaching, right?”
He grinned and lowered his head a fraction of an inch. “Right.”
“Maybe you can tell me why Aiden is trying to bury our feet in leaves?”
“He’s practicing for a job with the mafia. You know, cement shoes and all.”
She laughed. “Glad he has a career plan in mind.” Tipping her face into the side of his neck, she whispered. “When do we cover the lesson on kissing?”
“Oh, we’ll have to wait until later. Kissing is gross and must be done when no one is looking.”
“You’re killing me.”
“Welcome to parenthood training. Lesson number one: you only get what you want after he gets what he wants.”
Aiden cried out a protest as Colm scattered the leaves he’d gathered around them. Swooping down, he scooped up the scowling boy and set him on his feet. “Playground, ho!” Pointing to the play area swarmed with children, he patted Aiden on the head. “Take no prisoners, matey.”
With an excited yelp, Aiden kicked into high gear and ran helter-skelter for the massive playground structure. Spotting something glittery among the leaves, Monica plucked Princess Clarissa from the crackling pile.
“Hey, wait, Aiden!” she called out, but the warning came too late. He’d hit the ladder leading to the hamster tube. Turning to Colm, she held up the doll. “He almost lost her.”
“Again.”
“Again,” she amended.
He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her hard against him.
“I guess it’s a good thing I was here after all. I’m apparently a Princess Clarissa magnet.”
He chuckled. “Wish I’d met you a year ago. This one is number five.”
She blinked. “You mean he’s lost her before?”
Colm nodded. “After number three, I bought six more, rubbed them around in some dirt to make them not-so-new, and stashed them in my closet. Each time one disappears, I’m ready.”
