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“You barely buy anything. I told you, buy what you need.”
“Drew, that means something different to everyone.”
“If you aren’t sure, ask. Otherwise, buy what you need. How much is the stroller?”
I winced. “About three hundred.”
He shrugged. “Buy the one you want.” The pager on his belt buzzed. He glared at it but hit a button. “I have to go into the office. I’ll see you later.” He put a hand on my shoulder as he walked away. Just a simple touch, for a fraction of a moment, but after our morning, it felt like a kiss.
He pulled his shoes on, threw his cap on his head, and gave me a quick nod before he hurried out the door.
I finished the laundry and put it away, wondering what I could do to get Andrew to be a little more open with me. What if I was misreading him? It seemed unlikely. He was clearly going out of his way to take care of me and the boys, and he wanted us to be happy. Maybe he was starting to love the boys. Maybe he’d always wanted kids, and he’d just needed some time to readjust to the new path life decided to throw at him.
In the nursery, I put the folded clothes in the dresser drawers as quietly as I could so I wouldn’t wake up the boys,running my hands over the scrollwork and the stained patterns in the side of the wood. It was beautiful, and it looked like an antique. Something about it looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I’d seen it before. Maybe If I could find the name of the maker, I could look for their other designs and figure out where I’d seen it before.
Curious, I pulled out one of the drawers, looking on the back or the underside of the wood for a maker’s mark. There didn't seem to be anything recognizable. I put the drawer away and checked another. Finally, I gently tipped the dresser back from the wall and looked on the backside of it.
There, etched in the back of the wood, was an elegant carving of a tree. And I knew that tree; it was the same one on each of Andrew’s work shirts, and the decal on his truck, and the patch on his cap…
I hitched the laundry basket on my hip and walked out of the nursery, and my eyes fell on the dining room table and the chairs tucked into it. The scrollwork was different, but close enough that I could recognize it. I checked the bottom of one of the chairs.
It was the same tree.
“Huh.” I knew Andrew worked construction, but I hadn’t realized he was a carpenter, and that he did such beautiful work. I went though the other rooms of the house, looking for other items that stood out and matched. The bed frame and the nightstands in his bedroom, the coffee table, a small stool in the kitchen.
Then I realized the other item in the house where I’d seen that pattern before. Slowly, I made my way to the living room, standing in front of the beautiful rocking chair that Andrew had gifted me a few months after I’d moved in with him.
He made this for me.
I sat down in the chair, and it felt like a hug. Tears pricked at my eyes as I thought about the secret beauty hiding in this man. I rocked in silence, letting myself slowly come to terms with the fact that I was dangerously close to falling in love with Andrew, and that I had no idea what I wanted to do about it.
If I held myself together and kept myself emotionally distant through this, I could leave with the boys in another six months or so, go back to school in August, and have a fighting chance at a career, a good life, and falling in love the right way around.
But what if I stayed? All I’d ever wanted was freedom and respect. What if I got that from something other than a college degree?
What if the boys grew up with their father, who I knew was a good, honest, hardworking man? What if they had a chance to learn about their history and their heritage? What if Ididhave a fighting chance at a good life and romance, just not the way I’d envisioned it?
I tried to think about going back to school, what that would be like. I loved school; I always had. But as I visualized dropping the boys off in the morning, going to school, or going to work, and trying to care for them and do homework at the same time, I felt stress start to weigh on my shoulders and a knot form in my stomach.
But what if I stayed here, and fell in love with Andrew, and he didn’t feel the same way? Was he only taking care of us because he felt obligated? Or did he truly care for them? Would he fight to stay in their lives as they got older? How long would this seemingly endless generosity last?
One day at a time,I told myself. For now, I had a stroller to buy. On a whim, before I left the house, I rang Sarah Greenwood and picked her brain about a few of Andrew’sfavorite things. I may not have all the answers, but I knew not to underestimate the connection between the heart and the stomach.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I wasn’t sure how Maria had figured out my favorite meal was fettuccini alfredo, but she made a hell of a dish. My plate was piled high with perfectly cooked pasta, creamy alfredo sauce, juicy grilled chicken with flecks of rosemary and black pepper, and a sprinkling of freshly grated cheese. She’d made asparagus on the side, something I’d never really enjoyed before, but she somehow managed to turn it into something delectable.Wrapping a thin piece of bacon around it probably contributed to that, but what did I know?
“This is delicious,” I said.
“I’m glad you like it.” She smiled sweetly.
“The boys started that music class at the library today, right?”
“Yes, they loved it; they didn’t stop moving the whole time.”
I smiled at the thought of Maria trying to hold the both of them in her lap at the same time. It would be tricky, especially since they were now mobile, and so big.
The boys had just started crawling. They were a little over six months old and were bumping into everything. We’d childproofed the entire house one weekend when they’d finally figured out the mechanics of movement. Currently, their favorite game was to chase each other around the living room, and chew on the legs of the dining room chairs.
