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I reply using my terrible French that she’s tried to improve over the years. I manage to tell her about Meredith.
Dominique nods, eyeing me thoughtfully. “You’re going to marry this woman. I can feel it.”
No other person on this earth loves love more than Dominique. I’ve seen the romance novels she reads on her breaks from work. She cries at every wedding she caters. She also dotes on me like a mother.
“I feel it too, Dominique.”
She leans forward and pokes me with a floured finger. “You’d better let me do the cake, no charge. Better to not bother Mariam with this; she has her hands full.”
“I’ll pay you. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I say.
She makes a “pssh” noise and says, “Go. I need to plan meals for feeding your beloved and the baby.”
I stare at her, incredulous. “But I ordered….”
“I know what you ordered! Silly boy. I know what she and the baby need. You let Dominique handle everything.”
“And you’ll send me the bill.”
She shoos me away, muttering something in French about me being an idiot, but I know she means it in the most loving way possible.
I can’t help but smile as I leave the lodge kitchen and head outside and around the corner to my apartment.
Me: I’m home.
Meredith: Glad you got home safe.
Me: You should be asleep.
Meredith: I’m in bed. Does that count?
Me: No. It’s late. You need sleep.
Meredith: I don’t know if I can sleep after everything that happened today.
Me: Want me to read you a bedtime story?
Meredith: Ooh, a dirty one?
Me: No, an actual one. Hold on, I’m calling you.
Meredith answers on the first ring.
“Hi,” I say, perusing my bookshelf for one of several titles my niece and nephew love to have me read when they spend the day with me.
“I like hearing your voice. This is better,” she says.
“Horton Hears a Who?”
“Not my favorite,” she says. “Dr. Seuss stresses me out.”
I chuckle as my hand drifts over the spines of the children’s bookshelf. “Where the Wild Things Are?”
She hums. “Love that one, but it’s too short.”
“Picky, picky,” I tease. “The Giving Tree?”
“Hate.”
