Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“Address?”
I shake my head when she gives it to me. Pretending this is just a coincidence, that I didn’t enroll my son in the same school as her daughter on purpose.
“Wow. Marco goes there, too.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Well, then,” she says with an adorable smile. “You know exactly how to get there, don’t you?”
“I do.”
And I further know that tomorrow’s parent coffee day, and that Dani and I will both be there.
“Tell me about Marco,” Dani says in an inquiring voice.
My face softens. “He’s three years old," I say, a proud glint in my eye. "He's got these eyes, just like…” I pause, cruising to a stop at a stoplight.
“Like his mom’s?” she asks gently.
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Like his mom's. Big and bright, you can't help but get lost in them."
Dani leans in, interested. "Sounds adorable."
I nod, my smile growing wider. I love that she isn’t threatened by the mention of Marco’s mother. "And he's got these dimples, one on each side when he grins. Makes your heart melt, really."
She chuckles quietly. "I can imagine."
"His eyes, though," I continue. "They're this bright shade of blue, like the sky on a clear day. And those lashes... they're dark as coal. He’ll be a heartbreaker one day.”
“Like his dad?” she asks teasingly.
I chuckle. “Yeah, like his dad.”
Dani's eyes seem to sparkle, captivated by the picture I'm painting. "He sounds like quite a charmer."
The light turns green. "He's got this olive skin, a bit on the darker side. Takes after my side of the family there.”
“How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“I had three brothers and one sister. My oldest brother’s deceased. You saw Vivia. Sergio and Timeo are younger.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your brother.” Her eyes are sympathetic. “I have one sister and she’s my best friend.”
I reach for her hand and squeeze it.
“Well now. Olive skin and blue eyes, that’s quite a combination," she remarks, a hint of admiration in her tone.
"He's a bundle of energy," I say with a chuckle, shaking my head affectionately. "Always curious about everything around him. You can see those gears turning in his head as he figures things out."
"He's going to be a little explorer," Dani adds, her enthusiasm evident.
"Definitely. He's into dinosaurs and trucks, can't get enough of them," I say, a fondness in my voice. "But he's got this thoughtful side too. Sometimes, he just sits quietly, observing, lost in his own little world."
Dani smiles, curiosity shining in her eyes. “I can’t wait to meet him. What else did he inherit from your family?”
She shifts her gaze away, and it pings my curiosity. What does she know about my family?
"He loves food. Loves it. I haven’t found a single thing he won’t eat. Put anything in front of him, and he'll gobble it up without a fuss.”
She groans. “Oh teach me your ways. My daughter subsists on chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese, despite my best efforts.”
“I can’t take credit. The kid was born with the appetite of a truck driver.”
We pull up to the school. “I’d ask you to tell me about Emmy, but something tells me I’m going to see for myself.”
“Yup.”
Ten minutes later, Emmy’s chattering away in the back seat, thankfully the right size to fit into Marco’s car seat.
“Your tummy hurts but not so much you don’t have room for chicken nuggets?”
“Yes,” Emmy says seriously. “My tummy never hurts for chicken nuggets.”
We bring Emmy home and get her situated with a show, then Dani makes coffee.
“You hungry?” she asks.
“I could go for some lunch. I’ll order something?”
She waves her hand at me and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, no way are you ordering takeout while sitting in my home. I’ll make you something to eat. Do you eat anything, like your son?”
I grin at her. “Anything but calamari.”
I’ve only seen Dani’s home from a distance; it's an entirely different experience being inside it.
Every doubt I have about being anywhere near Dani dissipates in the cheerful, handcrafted interior of Emmy and Dani’s home. It's peaceful in here, welcoming, and I feel as if I belong.
I didn't even feel this way in my family home growing up. This is so different. The cleanliness, that much I knew. No, her eye for decorations and interior decor is simple, it's just enough. An oversized chair with a hand-crocheted blanket draped over the side. Overstuffed pillows tossed haphazardly on the couch. Stunning glass vases mingled with handcrafted children's artwork. Her house feels more like a home than any place I've ever been in. I almost feel guilty for the utterly masculine and simplistic home that I’ve made for Marco.
I sit on a barstool, watching Dani in the kitchen. She dices up greens and slices cooked chicken, then tosses them together with baby tomatoes and cucumbers. “When I grew up, we had pre-washed iceberg with low-fat Italian dressing. I distinctly remember the first time I had a salad with actual greens that weren't pre-washed and stuffed into a cheap plastic bowl…” I chuckle at the memory. “It was topped with fresh-made salad dressing with actual ingredients—nothing fabricated in some food lab in Nebraska. God, I was a goner after that, I tell ya."