“Come for dinner,” I say. “There’ll even be complex carbs before the ice cream.”
She freezes, her lips parted in surprise.
Why did I ask that?
Because she made my kid smile.
Or because I hate the idea of her eating alone.
Possibly both.
“Besides.” I saved my trump card for last. “A smart person told me pasta makes ice cream taste better.”
3
KAT
Watching Daniel strap Andy into the kid seat while battling with grocery bags is oddly fascinating.
When he asked me to dinner, he caught me in a moment of weakness. The news from Jules was a blow, plus I really am starving.
If it were any other guy, I’d wonder if he was hitting on me. But the chances of this man trying to get in my pants are worse than the chances of Greek Row obeying a new “no parties” rule.
He’s older, and a dad. With the exception of the fact that he’s friends with Liv’s boyfriend, he runs in totally different circles.
Plus that one time I hit on him, I crashed hard enough to leave rugburn on my ego for a week.
Daniel pulls out onto the street, the black RAM truck purring.
Elmwood is a pretty town, the kind with perfect flower baskets lining the streets in the summer and evergreen decorations all winter.
We skirt the edge of campus, Daniel pausing to let a group of laughing students cross before turning onto Cyprus Lane.
Halfway down, he slows in front of one of the many Queen Anne houses. It’s lighter than Sawyer’s across the road.
“It’s beautiful,” I say as he parks in the driveway.
“My parents took good care of it. I try to do the same.”
He clearly succeeds.
The lawn is bright and green even at the end of the summer, the paint fresh, the driveway recently paved.
“So this is where you grew up?”
“Bought it a few years ago.” He cuts the engine. “I’ve got the bags,” he says as he shifts out.
I help Andy out of the truck, which doesn’t take much as he’s already out of his seat.
The boy runs to the mailbox, tugging open the door and pulling open a fistful of mail.
“You know the rules.”
Andy hands over the mail to Daniel, who barely has a spare hand but finds a way.
I’m not sure what kind of rule there is that a eight-year-old can’t handle envelopes, but whatever.
The mailbox flag is lying on the ground next to the post.
“It broke off in a storm,” Daniel says, bending to grab it and sticking it inside the box.
“You’re a terrible homeowner,” I deadpan.
“I need to get the right screws to reattach it.” He glances over his shoulder on our way to the porch, smiling a little when he realizes I’m joking.
My stomach rumbles as we head inside.
The hallway has beautiful wood floors, probably original to the house, but fresh warm paint that makes it feel modern. Inside it’s renovated, the kitchen opened up to form one big square with the living room, an island between.
“I could make something fresh.” Daniel sets the bags on the counter.
“Excuse me?”
“It takes as long as cooking this.” He pulls the package out, reading the directions.
“Yes! Make fettuccine Alfredo,” Andy pleads.
“Kat?”
My stomach growls again.
“Can I help? I’m a terrible cook.”
His mouth curves. “You’re off the hook. Hang with Andy.”
“Come look at my puzzle,” Andy says.
I go to the coffee table to take in his handiwork. “It’s a zoo.”
“It’s Noah’s ark,” he corrects. “Two of every animal.”
“Where are your sloths?”
He frowns, bending over the puzzle and searching with a finger. “Probably still in the box.”
I grin.
Kids have this innocence about them that makes you want to see the world through their eyes. They haven’t been scarred. Everything is magical and interesting.
“What can I get you to drink?” Daniel calls from the kitchen.
My gaze lands on a wine fridge. “Red’s good.”
“Wine.” It doesn’t sound like a question, but it is one.
I shrug. “If you’re offering.”
“Are you legal?”
“Do you remember where we met?” I counter, and he turns away, muttering something I can’t hear.
He reaches for a bottle and uncorks it.
“This what you drink on campus?”
“Mostly coffee and grapefruit LaCroix during the week.”
“We’re all out of LaCroix.” I smile as Daniel pulls a glass down from a shelf and pours from the bottle.
“I’ll let it slide. But for the record, I’ve had a lot more grown-up things than wine, Professor,” I say as I take the glass from him.
Our fingers brush.
It’s innocent. Incidental.
The lightest touch of skin on skin.
I swear his nostrils flare, but a moment later, he turns away and everything’s normal.
“No wine for you?” I prompt as he returns to the kitchen.
“I drink. But not tonight.”
Andy captures my attention again, and we work on the puzzle. I sip my wine and sneak looks at the chef while helping Andy track down a rogue goat piece.
Daniel looks good in the kitchen. Capable and confident.
The dance moms would be moaning in ecstasy if they could see this.
When dinner is ready, I take the spot Daniel points to at the table, next to him and across from Andy.
The meal itself is delicious, and sitting with the two of them is surprisingly comfortable.
Andy tells us about school. “We have a field trip soon to go to the museum and see animals,” he says proudly. “My dad’s coming with me.”
I grin. “That’s quality supervision.”
“What’s supervision?” Andy takes an oversized bite of pasta.
“When someone needs to watch someone else to make sure they’re doing a good job and don’t get into trouble,” Daniel offers.
“This way you can watch your dad and make sure he doesn’t steal one of the animals,” I say.
Andy erupts into laughter, and even Daniel smirks into his pasta before reaching for his water glass.
The gold band on his ring finger glints in the light and my chest tightens.
This was such a happy moment, I forgot that their family wasn’t always the two of them.
“Dad, I need to bring pots for school this week. We’re planting flowers.”
“Uh. Yeah.” Daniel rubs a hand through his hair, looking distracted. He rises and grabs his phone off the island, cursing softly. “And you have soccer tomorrow. Are your clothes clean?”
Andy flips his palms. “I don’t remember.”
“If they smell like anything but sunshine and manufactured rainbows, they’re dirty,” I offer.
He snorts and turns to his dad. “Can I go play?”
“After you put your dishes away and check on your clothes.”
Andy dutifully carries his plate to the sink then takes off down the hallway for the stairs.