Dylan had texted Cleo right after dinner, and her reply had been waiting for him the second he’d finished reading bedtime stories. Now, with the kids asleep extra early given the emotional toll this week and the interrupted nights, he made a cup of coffee. Cradling it to warm his hands, he went in to the study and switched on the computer, ready to work.
Dylan had completed a course in web design just before Prue walked out, and after she’d gone, it wasn’t long before he’d landed a voluntary job. Designing Westway Elementary’s new-look website with links for the school newsletter, the library, term-date calendar, and after-school clubs had given him a focus. It had made him feel as though he could eventually pick up the pieces. The creativity was something law had never given him and he was hungry for more. He had a passion and it excited him.
Robert had recently put him in contact with an author friend who was great with words but knew nothing about technology, and as a result Dylan had scored himself a small commission to design a new website that he wanted to work on tonight. He added the customised graphics for the header, some photos, and uploaded the content sent to him. The author Dylan was working with had moved from writing gritty crime fiction to teenage fiction, a leap Dylan associated with his own change of profession, away from the demands of the corporate world to a more flexible one that allowed him to put family first. Making a success of this career path would mean he could be there for his children, to see them off to nursery and then school, fetch them in the afternoon and talk about their day. He’d have the best of both worlds.
When his eyes began to ache from focusing on the screen for so long, he turned and stared out of the window. He hadn’t closed the drapes yet and he looked out to the driveway and the front garden, lit up by the lighting on the ground and the tall lampposts that sat on either side of the path. The rain over the last week had at last eased off and drips hung from the leaves of the rose bush out front. The guttering over the porch had a familiar drip-drip sound from the spot that needed fixing.
He finally called it a night and switched the computer off, closed the drapes, and took his empty coffee cup to the kitchen. He climbed the stairs, checked on Ruby, then Jacob. Both kids were sleeping soundly, and with thoughts of Cleo and their date tomorrow night, Dylan climbed into bed.
Chinatown, New York City
Dylan hadn’t saida word to the kids about Cleo. Tonight they were with their mom at her place and of course there’d been the usual fuss about not wanting to go, about wanting to stay in their own beds in this house they loved and this house that kept them close to both grandparents they missed so much. It was the reason he was so determined to keep living there. He wanted his kids to have stability, to feel grounded and know their place in the world, just as he had done as a kid.
Dressed in indigo jeans, a smart, collared, white shirt and a roll-neck, graphite, fisherman’s sweater, Dylan made his way to the Chinese restaurant. He had his jacket over his arm. New York was cooling down in the lead-up to Thanksgiving and he knew he’d need the extra warmth later. He waited to cross the road and smiled at a redhead who looked him up and down conspicuously. It gave him a buzz to know that in his late thirties and as a single dad, he still stood out to women. Prue had got quite nasty in the divorce, said things he hoped she didn’t mean, told him he was turning into an old man, not wanting any fun any more and nobody would want him. Well here he was, out on a date, and other women still noticed him. It was enough to boost the confidence he felt dwindling as he reached the door to the restaurant.
He only hovered outside for five minutes before he saw the beautiful blonde woman whose lips had found his a couple of nights ago. Quickening her step across the street as the traffic moved on, she smiled as soon as she saw him. Wearing a wine-coloured dress with ankle boots that showed off slender legs, her hair was pulled back at the top and curls hung at either side, framing her face. He wanted to kiss her properly, there and then, but opted for an awkward hello kiss on the cheek.
‘Shall we?’ He opened the door to the restaurant and held an arm out for her to go first.
When they were seated at the table in the far corner, the table he’d requested on booking because it was private and intimate, they ordered a bottle of the cabernet from the Napa Valley.
‘Who’s looking after the kids tonight?’
He sat up straighter. ‘You’ve been asking Robert and Violet questions about me.’
Unabashed she said, ‘Only a few. I like to know what, and who, I’m getting involved with.’
‘So we’re involved?’ He smiled across the table. The waiter arrived and poured a small amount of wine into his glass for him to taste, and when he’d given the okay, the waiter poured two glasses and left them with two leather-bound menus.
‘Let’s see what happens,’ Cleo answered diplomatically. But he didn’t miss the corners of her mouth twitch as though fighting a smile.
The warmth of the restaurant surrounded him and he stood up to take his sweater off. He hadn’t meant to pull his shirt up at the same time, but when he caught Cleo looking at his stomach, he was glad he hadn’t let himself slide after Prue walked out. A couple of guys from the office had hit the wrong side of thirty-five, and all the client dinners and drinks after work had started to show around their middle. Dylan supposed he had Prue to thank, not only for his children whom he adored, but also for her obsession that he worked out. He’d found her nagging amusing at first, but after a while it had grated on him and he’d started running and lifting weights just to get some peace. He’d been pleasantly surprised that he enjoyed it.
‘You look lovely tonight,’ he told Cleo. The dress showed her figure well, hugged her womanly curves, and the colour brought out a glow in her cheeks.
‘Thank you.’ She looked down at the menu momentarily and he wondered if his compliment had made her uncomfortable. When she looked up she said, ‘You’ll usually find me in jeans and a top, very casual.’
‘Don’t you dress up for work? Wow, I haven’t even asked you what you do yet.’ He shook his head. When he realised how little he knew about this woman it made him nervous, but he wouldn’t show the weakness.
‘I’m my own boss so I pretty much wear what I like.’
The waiter came and took their order and Dylan topped up his wine glass. Cleo hadn’t touched hers yet, but it was a fine wine and he was enjoying being in adult company. He got so little of it these days as a stay at home dad that he often craved a conversation that didn’t revolve around dolls or Lego constructions.
‘What do you do?’ he asked when the waiter retreated into the shadows.
‘I run my Grandpa’s knitting store.’
‘You say that as though it’s a bad thing. Don’t you enjoy it?’
She grinned. ‘I love it. It’s just that I’m used to anyone around my age giving me a look. Some people find it peculiar and usually associate it with something an older person would do.’
‘Ah yes, my grandmother was a keen knitter.’ He pondered. ‘Come to think of it, she’s the only female in my family who ever knitted. Mom never took to it.’
‘It’s gaining in popularity.’
As Cleo told him about celebrities who knitted, youngsters who came into the store, how she’d never been that interested until she had the business to run, she finally sat back in her seat and enjoyed some of the wine, relaxing as they talked.
‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’ He laughed and then thanked the waiter who delivered Cleo’s chicken in honey sauce and his Singapore noodles to the table.
