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“Not your mom?”
She chokes. “I can’t remember the last time I saw her. She spent most of her time on the road. I used to think of her as always looking for love.”
“Instead of looking after her own kid.”
Shit! This is why I don’t do company or chit-chat.
Liam finds himself regretting coming over and having dinner. This is the reason that he tries to keep to himself. He is crap at small talk and even worse at trying to make people feel better.
Frank sits eating, oblivious to the conversation, but Liam feels bad. Real annoyed at himself for coming over and asking about her mom.
“Sorry.”
“No, it was a long time ago. And you’re right; Harriet never looked after me.”
“What did you say?”
“Oh my mom, she’s called Harriet. She never wanted me to call her Mom. Always by her first name.”
Liam, suddenly lost in his thoughts, was about to say something else, when Frank said, “Okay Willow.”
She grinned at him. “You, my dear, can call me Mom.”
He had thought for a split second that it was too much of a coincidence. But no, Willow’s mom just happened to have the same name as his ex. Although Harriet wasn’t officially his ex. They’d never gotten divorced, and even though she’d changed her name, as far as he was concerned they were merely estranged until he’d figured out what he was going to do with her once he found her.
“I can do that,” he says gruffly and pulls the meatloaf to him, spearing a slice and sliding it to his plate.
Willow laughs. “Sorry, habit I guess. Waitressing, mommying, I guess it’s ingrained in me to help. Speaking of which…”
She heads to the refrigerator and comes back with a pitcher of iced tea. When she leans over to pour Liam a glass he catches of glimpse of the soft pink skin of her breasts and she leaves the sweet smell of vanilla behind when she moves. He needs to eat and get the hell out of here.
Whenever they’re all served, Liam tucks into his meal. Shit. It’s delicious. And he can tell none it came out of a box. Willow’s a fucking poor Martha Stewart. He notices that it’s quiet and looks up to find Willow giving him an amused look.
“Hungry?” she grins at him.
Liam clears his throat and takes a swig of tea. “Yeah. It’s good. Don’t get much homemade food.”
Willow beams at him, her smile lighting up her face, her cheeks blushing with pleasure at his faint praise. “Thank you,” she says and scoops him up another serving of potatoes.
Liam turns back to his meal. He’d have to watch what he said around her. She seemed so eager for someone to say anything nice to her. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. He finishes up his food in silence, only glancing up a few times to find her watching him with a puzzled look on his face. The only sound at the table as they eat is the clink of silverware against the plates and the soft noise of Frank choo-chooing a green bean around his dish.
As soon as his plate is cleared, Liam pushes his chair back with a scrape. “Thanks, I should…”
“Oh, no, wait a little longer.” Willow jumps up, running to the fridge, and pulling out a dish, bringing it back to the table with a shy smile. “It’s toffee pudding. My favorite when I was a kid. You were such a good boy, cleaning your plate, you can have dessert.”
Liam gives her a close look and then realizes that she really is just offering him pudding. With a little shake of his head, he drops back into the chair and watches her serve out pudding and top it off with whipped cream.
Twenty minutes later, he’s still there, sitting on her sofa with Frank on his knee, thinking maybe he’d jumped the gun a little when it came to his hot, cooking neighbor. She just seemed lonely more than anything and he could relate to that. He’d never seen anyone but a teenaged girl he figured was the babysitter coming in and out of her apartment. The walls were thin here and if she had a boyfriend he’d most definitely know. Besides, this was a one-bedroom apartment so the kid obviously shared a room with his mom. He was getting a good impression of this chick and didn’t think she’d be bringing men around her kid. She didn’t appear to have anyone. And even though his rudeness was partly self-preservation, maybe he didn’t have to be such a grunting caveman around her.
“So, thanks for dinner. It really was good. And, you know, if you need anything just let me know,” he finally says.
Frank has gone heavy on his lap and he looks down to find the boy curled up, eyes drifting shut, little fingers in his mouth.
“Thank you. So much.” She smiles at him. “Oh, here. Let me take him.” She moves over and lifts the sleeping boy into her arms.
“I should get going.” Liam makes to head for the door when she stops him with a word.
“Stay.”
