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His hands stopped moving. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is that why you understand Rosie?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. But I am kind of an expert in children, specifically sick children whose parents find it difficult to let them grow up too soon.”
“You’re right about that, I want to keep her a little girl for as long as possible.”
“I know, but dealing with illness as a kid, no matter who’s illness, makes you grow up a little faster.” Many times it was unavoidable, but even when it was, there was no way to stop a child from maturing too fast with mature situations to deal with everyday.
“Sounds like you speak from personal experience.”
I sighed and nodded. My childhood wasn’t something I talked about to most people, but Antonio had been honest with me about the breakdown of his marriage, his fears about Rosie. I could do this.
“My father fell into a bottle when my mom walked out on us, or maybe she walked out because of his drinking, I’m not sure. All I know is that it worsened after she left, and it was up to me to take care of all the things he couldn’t or wouldn’t. I grew up fast and it made me independent, paying bills, keeping the house presentable, signing report cards, and pretty much anything I could to avoid being put in foster care.”
“That sounds rough.” He was sympathetic but not surprised, and that surprised me.
“It was an experience, for sure. It taught me how to take care of myself, to rely on myself. But it also led to years of estrangement between me and Dad. He resented me for what I did, and I resented him for putting me in that position.” I hated to think about that time, of losing touch with my only family and being truly alone for the first time in my life. “But things are better now. With him here in town, he seems happy and I’m happy to have him in my life again.”
“Are you?”
“Yep. I asked him to move here because I wanted a chance to fix things between us. For both of us.”
“Did you ask because he’s sober now?”
I blinked. “Who said he was sober?”
“I worked in the restaurant industry, Augusta, you think I don’t know an addict when I see one? I never would have let Ollie take care of her if he was still drinking.”
“Right, of course not. You knew.”
He nodded. “I did.”
“But, how?”
Antonio broke the rhythmic moves of stuffing and folding dumplings and looked at me. “Ollie leads a single parent support group at the community center and he talks openly about his mistakes.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Being a single parent is hard, and it’s even harder when you have obstacles like a sick kid or an addict in the family. It’s damn hard.” He shook his head, and shoulders fell with what seemed like regret. “It took me too long to make the decision to leave the long hours in the kitchen behind for Rosie’s sake. If I was a better man, a better father it would have been a no-brainer.”
“Maybe.” I understood where he was coming from. In the hospital there are rarely good choices, only the less bad option. “But how would you have taken care of Rosie and her healthcare bills without a job? Kids require money and resources, and sick kids need even more.”
He flashed another of those heart stopping smiles and nodded. “True, but I should have been working on a way to earn a living outside the kitchen much sooner than I did. As soon as I found her half-dead with Trishelle.”
“Well, you made the choice in the end, and Rosie is better for it. Isn’t that what matters?”
“I suppose.” He didn’t want the compliment, which only meant he deserved it more. The man who was usually so arrogant, couldn’t take a compliment on his skills and choices as a parent. Was there anything hotter than a man who wanted nothing more than to be a good dad?
“Trust me?”
He smiled. “Sure thing. In fact, I’m trusting you to make the dipping sauce.”
“Me?”
He nodded. “It’s only fair, right?”
“I don’t know about fair, but I’m always up for learning a new dipping sauce. Tell me what to do, chef.”
His gaze darkened and he licked his lips. “I love it when you talk dirty to me, Augusta.” He barked out a laugh when I rolled my eyes at him. “Okay, first step, take off your shirt.”
I knew he was joking, but I did it anyway. “Okay. Next step?”
“Augusta,” he growled.
“Did you forget the next step, Chef?”
His gaze darkened and he put his hands on his hips, eyes focused on my cleavage. “Pants.”
Feeling bold, I kept my eyes on him as I slid them over my hips and down my legs. “Next.”
Antonio let out a low growl and turned away from me, gripping the edge of the sink like he was searching for restraint. That was the exact opposite of what I wanted from him in the moment. He turned on the hot water and washed his hands for almost a full minute before he turned back to me. “Holy shit, Augusta.”
