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“Whatever,” Mila tells her. “It got confusing and you know it.”
“Yeah, but to nickname her after the girl in A Wonderful Life? That movie is just depressing,” she complains again. “Seriously.”
“It is not,” Mila defends us. “And it’s also after her middle name, Susanna. ZuZu is a fitting name. So hush.”
Maddy rolls her eyes, but my daughter has her wrapped around her little pinkie and we all know it. Maddy has bought her approximately one hundred pairs of shoes in this year alone.
I start to mention it, but Maddy holds up her hand. “She needed those pink cowboy boots.”
I snort. “What about the other ninety-nine pairs?”
“That’s neither here nor there,” Maddy sniffs.
Mila laughs and signals the waiter for another glass of wine. “You want a glass, honey?” she asks me.
“Sure. One glass won’t hurt anything.”
Maddy sighs from across the table. “You’ve got such willpower, Pax.”
“And to think, you used to think I was a lost cause,” I rib her.
“I did,” she admits without remorse. “But you proved us all wrong.”
“Yup.”
We order big juicy burgers, and Mila and I sip at our wine while Maddy and Gabe play a game of pool. Mila nestles in the crook of my shoulder, and I run my fingers through the tips of her dark hair.
“Did you have a good day?” I ask and her fingers curl around my arm.
“Yes. It’s better now, though.”
I smile, kissing the top of her head.
“Yeah.”
“How was work?”
I growl lightly. “Nope. No work talk. I’m out of that suit and I’m here with you.”
Mila smiles. “I don’t think you dislike it nearly as much as you say.”
I think on that. I don’t dislike the respect that the job commands. I don’t dislike the salary, although, since I’ve always had a trust fund, the money wasn’t new to me.
“I guess I just hate the confinement,” I admit. “I hate the suits. And the Yes, sirs. It doesn’t feel like me.”
“It’s not you,” Mila agrees. “It’s just your job. You can be you again when you come home. But you’re so good at what you do. Your grandfather was just telling me so the other day.”
I can’t help but feel satisfaction in that, in his approval. William Alexander is hard to impress, and once you’ve done it, you don’t forget it.
“Good.”
“He’s coming over for dinner next week,” she mentions. I nod.
“Ok.”
The heat from Mila’s body is comforting, and we are spooned together as much as we can be in a bar booth. Mila lifts her head from my chest. “I’m ready to go home now,” she tells me softly. Her eyes are large and suggestive.
“Any particular reason why?” I ask, my eyebrow raised.
