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Not that she knew much about teenagers but she was impressed that Izzy was doing the cooking.
Had his wife been a good cook? Had she taught her daughter? Flora imagined her carefully selecting menus, and spending hours providing her children with balanced, healthy meals.
She braced herself against the ripple of insecurity that threatened to shake her optimism.
Jack wasn’t going to be measuring her against his wife, and neither were his children.
It had been less than a fifteen-minute subway ride from her apartment, but it felt like a million miles. This was Brooklyn’s most historic neighborhood, with wide, leafy streets and mesmerizing views of the Manhattan skyline across the East River. Now, in spring, blossom filled the sky with fragrant clouds, showering the cobbled streets with soft petals.
Checking the directions on her phone, she moved to one side to avoid a young girl on a scooter and smiled at the young mother who was running behind her, trying to keep up. It seemed like a family neighborhood, and considerably more upmarket than the area where she lived. On her way here, she’d walked past a couple of bistros and a boutique. She imagined living somewhere like this, picking up a bag of peaches on her way home, exchanging a laugh and a joke with a street vendor.
Even the names of the streets were charming. She’d passed Cranberry Street, Pineapple Street and Orange Street. People who lived here got their five a day just by walking around, she thought. Even the air felt fresher than it did in the center of Manhattan. The streets
outside her apartment mostly smelled of garbage.
She was ten minutes early. Did that matter?
Nerves were jumping around in the pit of her belly, but she always felt that way before seeing Jack.
A man striding past gave her a wide berth and she realized it was because she was smiling at nothing in particular.
Feeling positive, she walked up the steps and rang the bell.
One day, she promised herself, she was going to have a proper front door of her own. Maybe flanked by olive trees, or pots filled with trailing plants.
Jack opened the door. He was wearing jeans, and his shirt was open at the neck. His feet were bare and there was a hint of shadow on his jaw. Here in his own domain, he seemed younger and more relaxed.
“You found us okay?” His gaze connected with hers and she felt a searing flash of chemistry that almost knocked her off her feet. Feeling a little disorientated, she stepped into the house. His fingers brushed lightly against hers, sending a shimmer of heat coursing through her. For a wild moment she thought he was going to simply kick the door shut and drag her against him, but instead he closed the door with deliberate care, his arm braced against it as he took a steadying breath, steeling himself.
It was a moment before he turned to face her. The atmosphere was charged with tension. It had all the intensity of sex, without the actual sex.
She gave him a sympathetic smile and unfastened her coat. “How’s it going?”
“Nothing that a long, icy shower won’t cure. You look great in that dress.” He spoke in a low voice. “And I love your hair when it curls like that.”
“It’s a style I like to call ‘the indecisive.’” She handed him her coat. “I pulled my dress over my head so many times while trying to decide what to wear I produced enough electricity to power the whole borough.”
His laughter broke the tension. “I’m pleased you came. And the girls are excited to meet you.”
“I can’t wait to meet them.”
As he hung up her coat, she glanced around curiously.
She’d imagined a slightly messy, cozy family home. Maybe some signs of a man who was struggling to cope. It was nothing like that.
The walls of the entryway were decorated in a soft palette of whites and creams that reflected the light and added to the feeling of space. She’d never been in such ordered surroundings. It reminded her of a spa. She half expected a woman in a white coat to swipe her credit card and escort her to a treatment room for a facial.
A large vase full of calla lilies sat proudly on a console table. Her hands itched to rearrange them, but nothing here cried out to be touched. There was no mess. No unopened mail that needed sorting, no house keys, no casual detritus waiting to be stowed away. Everything was already in its place.
“Are you selling your home?” She spoke without thinking and saw his eyebrows lift.
“No. Why would you think that?”
Because her mouth was bigger than her brain. “It’s so tidy. The only time I’ve ever seen living space this tidy is when people are selling. Sometimes we’re asked to do the flowers to help showcase a property.”
“Mommy liked it tidy. We try to keep it the way she liked it.” The shy voice came from the stairs and Flora turned and saw a young girl standing there. Her hair was dark and caught up in an uneven ponytail. Her blue dress hung around her skinny frame and she was carrying a limp giraffe that probably hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine at any point during its life. She stared at Flora, unsure whether she was looking at friend or foe.
“Hi there.” Flora gave her a warm smile. “You must be Molly.” She stepped forward but the little girl shrank back, clutching the giraffe to her chest.
