Page 58 of Peaches & Pistols

“I’ll for sure pull into a parking lot and sit in the blissful silence. No chatter, constant questions, complaints, or kid music assaulting my ears.”

I nod in solidarity, because I’d do the same thing. You don’t appreciate silence until you have a kid. There’s no silence. Ever.

“Then I’ll come home and sit in the silence on the couch. Maybe by lunchtime I’ll want to listen to an audiobook or some music. It’ll be glorious,” she says wistfully, and I can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth.

Her comment spurs me to ask a question that’s been eating at me.

“Where do you go at lunchtime? You make me lunch every day, but you’re never here when I come home to eat.”

She stalls by taking several sips of coffee but can’t avoid answering indefinitely.

“If the weather’s nice, I go for a walk, people watch along Main Street or take a few laps around the park. If the weather’s crummy, I go to the library and use the computer or check out a new book or audiobook.” She shrugs.

“You don’t have to leave just because I’m coming home. I ain’t gonna bite.” The pulse point in her neck throbs, and I’m lying through my teeth.

I’d like to bite her there, on her earlobe, and at the juncture of her thighs.

“I know. But I figure it’s the one hour a day you get to yourself. I don’t want to intrude. I know what it feels like to never have ‘me time’ so, I leave to give you yours.”

As always, Mia proves herself to be too kind, too thoughtful, too good. A living, breathing embodiment of selflessness.

“I have quiet in the morning before everyone wakes up. I have quiet when the store’s dead. I have quiet after everyone goes to bed.” She fidgets, uncomfortable as I debunk her rationale, but that’s not my intention.

“Don’t get me wrong, a quiet lunchbreak at home is a great break in my day. But I don’t want you goin’ out of your way and putting yourself out.” Her forced smile is disconcerting.

“When do you eat lunch? The kitchen’s spotless when I come in, no dishes in the sink.”

“I don’t eat a real lunch most days. I munch on what the kids leave on their breakfast plates, or extras when I pack their lunchboxes. I eat snack with them after school. I don’t mind.”

This woman, my employee, hasn’t been taking a lunch break. It doesn’t sit right with me for more reasons than one.

“I can’t have you skipping lunch, Mia. And not because you’re technically on my payroll, but because you’re a human being. I need you to eat a real lunch.” My face’s natural state is a perma-scowl, but I’m trying to show my genuine concern.

“Please,” I implore.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I can eat when I come back from my midday outing.”

“No.”

Her head shoots up, shocked by my clipped reply, so I soften my tone.

“Eat lunch with me.”

“Like, eat while you’re eating, in the same place you’re eating?”

Her question isn’t funny but has me chuckling.

“That’s how eating together works, yes.” Her cheeks flush. “We eat together most nights for dinner, what’s the difference?”

“We aren’t alone at dinnertime,” she says, chagrined.

She’s not wrong. Come to think of it, I don’t know that we’ve had much time alone together…ever. The girls are our priority, and when we’re not here, we’re at the ranch surrounded by people.

“Does being alone with me make you uncomfortable?” I fucking hope not because the desire to be alone with her grows by the day.

“No! Not at all.” She rushes out. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“So, if neither of us is uncomfortable, eat at lunchtime with me.”