“Morning, beautiful.”
He smiles when he sees me, and my anxiety slips away. He’s the same guy he was twenty-four hours ago. Nothing’s changed. A mixing bowl sits in the kitchen sink, and other baking equipment lies scattered over the counter.
“Do you ever stop cooking?” I tease as he pulls a tray of scones out of the oven.
Paul chuckles. “I like to bake on the weekend. I always take my mom something.”
My heart squeezes for the man who takes care of his mother so well.
“Do you still want to come visit her?” He’s watching me carefully. This is a big deal for him, and he’s waiting to see if I’ll keep my word.
“Of course. If you don’t mind me tagging along.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not tagging along, Cassie. I want you to meet her.”
An hour later, I cling onto the back of Paul’s bike as we drive into Wild. He stops outside the local convenience store and kills the engine.
“I just need to grab a few things.”
I go in with him, and he fills a basket with canned food, fresh bread, baby formula, and diapers.
“Is this something you’re not telling me?” I joke. “Have you got a secret baby hidden somewhere?”
He just smiles. “It’s not for me.”
He pays for the groceries and stuffs them into his saddlebag. Then we take the road behind the store, heading past run-down apartments into a residential area. We slow down as we ride past houses with overgrown grass and gates that hang off fences.
At the end of the road is a trailer park, and we turn in and stop by the reception desk.
A woman shuffles out of the office and raises a hand in greeting.
“Hey Paul.” Her voice is croaky from age.
He greets the woman, and they chat for a few minutes as he pulls the groceries out of his saddle bag.
“This is for whoever needs it this week.” He hands over the groceries, the diapers, and the large can of baby formula.
“God bless you,” she says.
My chest expands as I watch Paul talk to the woman. He gets back on the bike, and my arms slide around his waist. We take the gravel path that weaves between the trailers slowly, but I hang on to him tight.
We dodge kids kicking a worn soccer ball around. Some of them chase the bike, and Paul reaches into his pocket and throws a bag of sweets back to them.
A man watering a line of plants outside a run-down trailer raises a hand in greeting.
They know him here, and adults and kids alike call out greetings as we ride past.
In the back corner of the park, we stop in front of a weather-stained trailer that’s smaller than the rest. The wheels have been removed, and it's sitting on bricks. The brown paneling is worn in places, and one of the windows has a crack in it. Grass grows up around the base, and there’s a canvas overhang that forms an awning over the door. Under the awning are a cluster of paving stones surrounded by colorful plant pots to form a small courtyard that encloses a plastic table and two plastic chairs.
At the sound of the bike, a woman comes to the door and leans on the doorframe as she watches us park.
Her gray hair is cut short, and deep wrinkles line her eyes. She holds a cigarette in one hand, and ash falls to the soil as she taps it against the side of a pot plant.
“Morning, Paulie.”
Her gaze moves to me, and her eyes light up with the same sparkle as her son’s. “You brought a girl.”
I slide off the bike, my stomach knotting. I’ve never been great at meeting new people, especially someone I want to impress, like Paul’s mom.
