Dean: That sounds about right. Thank you, Capo. I’m glad you texted.
Capo: Of course, brother. I’m happy to help. I hope everything works out with you and your beautiful, sweet Jessica Fletcher nanny. But if it doesn’t, my ear is here to lean on anytime.
Dean: Jessica Fletcher?
Capo: Murder, She Wrote.
Dean: What?
Capo: Don’t tell me you’ve never seen Murder, She Wrote? You know, Angela Lansbury as Jessica Fletcher, mystery novelist turned amateur sleuth? Ran for twelve seasons in the ‘80s and ‘90s? Some of the most classic Classic Television of all time?
Dean: That’s before even MY time, so I know it was before yours.
Capo: Yeah, but my Nonna had all the seasons on VHS. We watched them every weekend when my brothers and I stayed over at her place, so my parents could have more irresponsible sex and make MORE brothers. Loved that shit. The show, not my parents having more kids than they could handle.
Dean: Lol. Valid. I always wished I had a younger brother as well as an older one, but maybe one is enough.
Capo: One is plenty. Speaking of brothers, I have to go text them next. Three of them were at the party, and at least one of them was getting awfully cozy with Gio and wants to be a UFC fighter, so…
Dean: Go. Do damage control. I’ll touch base later, and thanks again. I appreciate the words of wisdom. And the perspective.
Capo: No worries, man. Go get the girl. True love is worth the risk.
Twenty-Six
CLOVER
I emergefrom the FBI’s temporary headquarters on Rampart Street late Saturday afternoon and stumble toward the French Quarter, blinking like a victim of Airless Office Job Syndrome.
Not for the first time, I think about how grateful I am to have avoided that fate.
Hustling for music gigs in between my money job of the moment, while designing clothes on the side, has been stressful at times, but I’ve never regretted steering clear of the corporate world. I’m pretty sure daily exposure to fluorescent overhead lights and being trapped in a warren of cubicles would have broken my spirit.
It seriously feels like years since I’ve had a breath of fresh air.
Dean dropped me off at nine a.m., but the agents didn’t get around to calling me back to the interview room until almost noon.
I killed three hours sipping stale coffee, pacing up and down the windowless hallway to the ladies’ room, and texting emotional pleas for understanding to my nearest and dearest.
If Dean decides to forgive me for rushing into danger and putting Ava and Bella at risk, I want to be ready. I want him toknow that I’m a new woman, a no-longer-commitment-fearful woman, who’s ready to dance into the future with him and our girls, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world.
My dad was kind of freaked out. He isn’t a fan of age-gap relationships, especially when his daughter is the one falling for a man eleven years her senior, who already has two small children. But once I told him about Dean, Ava, and Bella—about how at home I feel with them, how safe and at peace and overflowing with excitement all at the same time—he wished me the best.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, flower girl, he texted, using the old nickname from when I was little.You’ve always had a big heart and known your own mind. If your heart and mind are both telling you this is right, then I think you have to listen. Don’t worry what anyone else has to say about it. Even your dad.
But I did worry, I couldn’t help it.
I love my dad, but he’s honestly not the person I turn to for advice or even love and support. He’s just not that kind of father.
Blue and Beatrice are my family in that way. They’re the ones who went out above and beyond to help an overwhelmed Midwestern girl get settled in the big city, the wise mentors who give the best advice, and the generous friends who rearranged their lives to take care of me when I was too broken from the accident to take care of myself. They are my ride or dies, and if they think Dean is a bad idea, or that I’m not ready to tackle something as adult as potentially becoming a parent, it will give me pause.
I’m still not sure it will stop me—I’m so down bad for Dean, the only thing I can imagine ending this is Dean himself—but the disapproval of the people who know me best would add a layer of angst to my already very angsty weekend.
But it turns out, all my pacing and fretting while I waited for Blue and Bea to reply was for nothing. Beatrice was overjoyed and confessed that something about the nanny thing “not working out” seemed fishy to her from the beginning. She suspected romance, but didn’t want to say anything until she was sure.
Blue was even more Zen, assuring me that he has zero issues with me dating his teammate or an older man with children. He just wants me to be happy and to find the same beautiful, soul-deep connection he’s found with Bea.
Because I “deserve to be loved like that,” and will absolutely be “a blessing in the life of anyone who gets to love me.”
