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I was going to hold on to that, praying that I was right as I got ready to head over.
With not much time to get ready, I hopped in the shower and got clean before standing in my bedroom, looking at three outfits on my bed while wrapped in a towel. The carpet below me started to get damp from where I stood, debating on the three options. By the time I picked one, I was going to be dry.
Finally settling on the one that ranged in the center from sexy to hiding myself in a sweatshirt and pajama pants, I blew out my hair and did my makeup. It felt silly in a way. I wasn’t going ‘out.’ I rarely did a full-face makeup anymore unless it was before work, which I washed off the second I got home. But here I was putting on eyeshadow and lipstick and mascara. Why?
Because he was stupid hot, that was why. And even if I kind of hated his guts, I wasn’t about to be intimidated by a guy who looked like that without at least a little bit of warpaint on. With that mindset, I also grabbed the good bra, the one that I never wore because I never wanted the attention, but I liked specifically because if Ididwant attention, I was most certainly going to get it. The girls pushed to my chin, I got dressed and headed for the door.
Carmela and Mark lived fairly close, just down the street from where Mark’s family practice was and where the office park where Carmela worked when she went in.
“Hey,” Carmela said as she answered the door, looking as fresh as a daisy.
I wondered how she did that. I knew for a fact that she worked full time and took care of Cassie, but she never seemed flustered. It was impressive.
“Hey,” I said. “Am I early?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I’ve got some food going, and Victor isn’t here yet, so you’re good. Want to come help me in the kitchen for a bit?”
“Sure,” I said.
I followed her inside and saw baby Cassie sitting in one of those bouncing swings. She seemed delighted by the weightlessness and extraordinarily curious about the toys sitting in front of her. Particularly in how they tasted.
“Say hi, Cassie,” Carmela said, dipping down to kiss her head before continuing on to the stove.
“Hi, baby,” I said in the overly high, exaggerated voice one uses with babies. “Do you like your toys? Do they taste good?”
“Oh, she’s at that age now,” Carmela said from where she was stirring a pot on the stove. “Everything goes in her mouth. I have to be careful what I leave anywhere near her.”
“I bet,” I said. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“Mark’s favorite,” she said. “A full pasta dish with sausage sauce. He says it’s the unhealthiest thing he could eat, but it always puts him in a good mood. He figured Victor might need some pushing to get in a good place for our plan to work.”
“About that,” I said. “What exactly is the plan?”
She turned and smiled. “Mel, you know you have the power in this situation, don’t you?”
“How?” I asked. “It seems like I have no power whatsoever.”
Carmela shook her head and went back to the pan on the stove where she was browning the meat.
“Victor is a recent divorcee,” she said. “A headstrong man who just wanted to come home and have something to do while he was here figuring himself out. Buying the grocery store was just the first thing that came along. It was kind of a whim.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “He seemed awfully insistent on it when I talked to him.”
“Well, we will see, won’t we?” Carmela said. “We will get him here, get him some good food, talk a bit, and see if we can push him toward the most reasonable solution. If he says no, he says no, but from a lawyer’s perspective, I can see where he would rather do this than deal with an extended situation where he might have to go to courtandlearn an entirely new businessanddeal with the other owner being hostile.”
When she put it like that, it sounded reasonable. I nodded and motioned toward the vegetables lying on the counter by the cutting board.
“Need some help chopping?” I asked.
“If you don’t mind,” she replied.
I picked up the knife and went to work, calling on every skill my mother had taught me about prepping meals before she passed. The onions were threatening to make me tear up and ruin my makeup, and I was about to drop the knife and go dab them, when the doorbell rang. I froze and turned to Carmela. She smiled and wiped off her hands on a kitchen towel.
“Here we go,” she said.
She crossed to the door, touching her baby’s cheek as she passed, and opened it up. I had followed behind and was standing in the living room over her shoulder as he looked up, saw her, then saw me. His face dropped and his eyes darted back to Carmela.
“Is this a set-up?” he asked suspiciously. “Do I need my lawyer?”
