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I gave him a playful shove. “Perv.”
“Excuse me, but I am a deeply romantic, poetic soul.” He pretended to be wounded then grinned. “Who also happens to adore your ass.”
“Romantic,” I scoffed. “Pervmantic.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Come on, I’m making dinner.”
“Dinner?” I asked, walking ahead of him with a sexy sway to my hips. “I thought you said that when I got home, you’d be eating—”
My words stuttered short when we stepped through the swinging door and I saw Emma and Michael sitting at the island. I switched tracks to avert disaster and raised an irritated eyebrow at Neil. “Vegan. Because Emma is here. Hello, Emma.”
She gave me that look she always gave me when she knew something was up, but she didn’t want any details. “Hi, Sophie.”
“Hey, Sophie,” Michael said, standing to give me a hug. Michael came from a super WASPy family who defied ster
eotypes by being the huggingest damn people I’d ever met. And I’m from the Midwest.
I gave him a squeeze then went to Emma, motioning for her stay seated. I hugged her briefly and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Swollen,” she complained, her hand falling to her round tummy. Of course, Emma would be one of those women who carried her baby perfectly, like a little basketball in front. I was jealous, and I was never even going to have kids. But everything Emma did was adorable. Waifish, with blond hair in a chin-length bob that perfectly suited her and big green eyes that could stare down a hardened assassin, she was the perfect combination of sweet and intimidating.
Neil and I had placed bets on which features the baby would have. Neil had his money on Emma’s blond hair, but Michael’s height, while I was rooting for another brunette short person to join the family so I wouldn’t be alone anymore.
“Oh! Here’s your chance, Dad!” Emma said, flapping her hands excitedly. “She’s moving!”
Neil dropped the spoon he’d been using into the pot of marinara simmering on the stove, and I leapt behind the island to rescue it. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and hurried over to place them on Emma’s stomach.
Then, at the same time, both he and I raised our heads and said, “She?”
Michael laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, so much for keeping it a secret.”
“A little girl?” Neil exclaimed, looking to Emma for confirmation. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have done the nursery in pink.”
“We don’t know if it’s a little girl yet,” Michael reminded him. “We know it has a vagina.”
“Exactly. They might name the baby Olivia, and then, we find out when he’s like three that he’s really Oliver.” I fished the spoon from the pot, keeping myself at arm’s length from the occasionally popping red sauce to protect my Cordovan lace Dolce & Gabbana sheath dress.
“Will the two of you please allow an old man to have his moment?” Neil scolded. We’d been round and round the gender politics carousel of hell with Neil ever since Emma and Michael had announced that they weren’t going to share the baby’s sex. Neil was super progressive in some ways, startlingly antiquated in others.
Dinner with Michael and Emma was a joy, as always. It was weird, having a stepdaughter who was the same age as me, but in a lot of ways, it was fun. We made an excellent team for ganging up on her father. And Michael was finally able to speak without fear of being destroyed by the hate radiation Neil used to emit whenever the poor guy was around. It was disappointing when it was time for them to head back to the city.
Finally getting a moment alone with Neil alleviated some of that disappointment. I’d stayed in the kitchen to load the dishwasher while Neil walked Michael and Emma to the door, and I was just washing up when he came back.
“Have I ever told you how much I enjoy this whole domestic thing?” I asked, drying my hands.
He came over to circle his arms around my waist. “You enjoy it so much, you started a magazine and put in sixty hours a week?”
“Exactly. I am not scrubbing that pot.” I indicated the giant saucepot in the sink, which I hadn’t been able to fit into the already stuffed dishwasher.
“Leave it. Julia is just going to rewash all the clean dishes by hand in the morning, anyway.”
I rolled my eyes. “She’s not that picky. Besides, isn’t that a good thing in a housekeeper? Attention to detail?”
He kissed my forehead and went to the refrigerator. Pulling out a bottle of white wine, he said, “I have an idea.”
“Oh?” I liked Neil’s ideas. They were usually absolutely filthy. A little tingle of anticipation made me shiver. Before I’d started Mode, Neil and I’d had all the time in the world for sex. Now, with work keeping me in New York several nights a week and exhausted the rest of the time, we did it when we could.
“Why don’t we start a fire in the den, drink some wine, and I can pretend that I’m more interested in hearing about your day than I am about getting into your knickers.” He grinned at me as he opened a drawer and felt for the corkscrew.
