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She worries her lip. “Alright,” she says with great reluctance. “What do you have in mind?”
I’ve got my in.
“Dinner at Café Noir tonight.”
She frowns. Why a frown? It’s one of the best restaurants in the city.
“Do they even have a kid’s menu?”
“Why do we need a kid’s menu?”
She gives me her narrow-eyed, tight-lipped look.
And then it dawns on me. Jesus, I can’t admit to her that I actually forgot Toni would be with us. In my mind, we’d have pawned her off on a nanny or something, but I remember with chagrin we don’t have any more nannies.
“So, you want to take Toni with us?”
“Of course, I do,” she hisses under her breath. “Where else would she go?”
“Okay, settle down.” Jesus.
She rolls her eyes and I imagine her laid out over my lap, kicking those adorable feet.
“I’ll check on the kid’s menu.”
She nods, lips thinned as if she’s still on the fence.
I haven’t had a woman I was interested in play hard to get in so long, I’ve forgotten how it’s played. I’ll need to strategize.
“Uncle Miguel.” God, my too-small Grinch heart twangs at the sound of that little voice calling me that. Toni’s standing at the top of the stairs. “Why don’t you drive in the city yourself?” She’s staring out the window. “Your driver guy’s waiting.”
“I do, but for work it’s easier to have someone drive me because parking’s a pain in the a— butt.”
Samantha smirks.
She is so getting that spanking she’s damn near begged for.
We manage to get out of the house in time to the waiting car, but it’s a fucking feat. Prince tries to take off but we’d leashed him, Toni’s got her things tucked in her arms and holds Samantha’s hand, and I grab my laptop bag. We pile into the car and Prince hops onto Toni’s lap.
“You’re a good boy,” Samantha croons, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “You need some breakfast, don’t you, boy?”
“I gave him my eggs,” Toni says proudly. “He ate them all up.”
“Did you eat anything?”
She looks at me sheepishly. “Little bit of toast.”
I grunt in disapproval. I won’t have anyone saying I don’t feed the kid, and she’s honestly already skin and bones. “We’ll get you a good lunch. Chicken tenders?”
“I like those.”
“And we know you like macaroni and cheese.”
She nods. “Don’t you mean cavatappi with a decadent gruyere-havarti blend?”
Samantha tugs on one of Toni’s braids, and Toni smiles.
It’s only been a few days, and it’s hard to believe I didn’t even know them a week ago. But things change quickly, sometimes, in the blink of an eye.
We pull up to Samantha’s apartment and drop her off. She lives on a humble street lined with brownstones, clean and well kept. Large potted plants and flowers line the stairs leading up to her apartment. Bikes are locked at a bike rack, and children with their parents are lining up at the bus stop. It looks so normal, so simple, but it also reminds me how out of touch with family life I am.
Do I want that? I think I want that.
Do I?
I mean, I always did, but it was way, way at the back of my mind. I haven’t really given it much thought in years. I want it the way I want to cruise the Mediterranean. Something that sounds good, that I’d like to experience, but not something I’m willing to put the effort into right this very minute.
Seems I haven’t been given a choice at this point.
Toni and I watch Samantha go, and I imagine we’re both looking the same way Prince looks every time she leaves.
“I like her,” Toni says. “I’m glad we get to see her later.”
“Me, too.”
She looks over at me and smiles, just a gentle upward quirk of her lips, but it’s good to see the kid’s feeling better about shit.
“Can I use your phone?” she asks as we drive toward work.
“Absolutely not.”
“Fine,” she says with a sigh and an eye roll. “Not like you have anything fun on it anyway,” she mutters.
Oh, is that right?
“Fun, like what?”
She shrugs. “You know, games. Coloring. YouTube.”
“How do you know? You shouldn’t judge people like that.”
She’s totally right. I have my email, texts, and banking apps. I don’t even know how people… color on phones?
I’ll show her.
While she’s looking out the window, I open the App Store and download the top-rated games and YouTube, and even find something that’s called “Color Me Happy.”
“Oooh,” she says, looking over my shoulder when the new apps are downloaded. “Now can I use it?”
“Still no.”
“You’re zero fun.”
I feel like that’s a challenge.
Raul’s pacing outside the building when we arrive.
“Thank fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
“Watch your fucking language,” I mutter back.
“Do you even hear yourself? Hello, kettle, it’s pot calling.” He steps back, his palms held upward in surrender when he catches my look. “Okay, alright, let’s settle down.”
