Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
So I happily throw myself into the warm leather seat of his car as he puts the heater on full blast. I hold my hands to the vent until the tips of my fingers burn delightfully.
“The weather forecast didn’t call for anything this ugly,” I say lamely, the guilt surging up from my stomach.
Fair warning or not, I should have been better prepared.
I should have reacted faster instead of panicking.
I should have taken us on the highway instead of these little side streets where holes in city services become pits that will swallow you up.
Arlo deserved better from me tonight, too, and I’m sad that I’m failing as a mom.
My nails dig into my palm.
“I don’t think anyone saw this coming. Where to next?” Patton says. He sends me a quick glance.
“Back to my place would be great. Arlo’s hungry and it’s getting pretty late.” I wince as I remember our other problem. Food.
“I want pizza for dinner!” Arlo pipes up from the back.
For once, I can’t argue.
There’s a pie shop just a couple blocks away where they can walk the delivery over to our place instead of risking their delivery cars. So yes, I’ll order and we’ll sit on the sofa and eat and for once I won’t fuss about the cost.
“You can never go wrong with pizza. Choice of kings,” Patton says firmly.
Arlo laughs. “Stay and eat pizza with us, Mr. Rory.”
Patton side-eyes me, but I don’t dare look at either of them.
Instead, I stare dead ahead.
If I narrow my eyes enough, there’s a chance I can bleed through into another dimension where my son isn’t asking his unknown father to stay for dinner.
“Your mom’s had a rough night, Arlo. Don’t know if she wants company.”
“Yeah, she does,” Arlo announces with innocent confidence. “It’s okay, isn’t it, Mom?”
My lungs lock up for the hundredth time tonight.
This cannot be happening.
If I could snap my fingers and fall through the floor—to the center of the Earth, ideally—I would.
“It would be pretty terrible if I didn’t say thank you,” I say, well aware that Patton literally rescued us in time for a late dinner. “Patton, why don’t you stick around for some pizza? If you don’t have other plans, I mean…”
Those mundane words cut me from the inside out.
And he darts me a glance like he knows I’m mere seconds from having a nervous breakdown.
“You’re sure you’re up for that? Don’t invite me on the boy’s account.”
“No, no, you didn’t have to do any of this, but you did. I’m more than grateful.” The words come out bitter and I bite my tongue. “I just mean I owe you one. Personally.”
He navigates the icy roads with an expert hand and amazing tires that make the dicey conditions easy to manage.
“No special favors here. You might think it’s a big deal, but really it helps me,” he explains. “The Cardinal’s too damn new to lose a manager, even for a day. We can’t afford any crappy reviews and we need you there for your shift.”
“Business,” I repeat. “Oh, yes. Of course.”
It would be so easy to believe him, just going by what he says.
Except when he looks at me, his eyes say something else.
They shine like blue beacons, like I matter, and that scares me more than anything else that’s happened tonight.
I can’t start mattering to this man.
Not with our past.
Not with his son sitting in the back seat while nobody knows the truth but me. And if he has a deeper motive behind rushing to our rescue somewhere behind those unfathomable blue eyes—
I shut down.
I flipping have to or this won’t end well.
Luckily, it doesn’t take long to get to my place.
When he switches off the engine, the only sound is the soft patter of the snow in that familiar deep wintry silence.
“Thanks again,” I say. “What sort of pizza do you like? I can order two if anchovies are your thing…”
Patton swallows like he’s reconsidering this. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him one bit. We’re on knife’s edge, and if we’re not careful, we’ll destroy the delicate balance we’ve established that kinda-sorta works.
“Please, Mr. Rory,” Arlo whines.
Patton smiles and glances at me again.
“I’m in the mood for a margherita style with extra garlic, if they have it,” he says. “But I’ll get the pizzas. My treat for you guys on a crappy night.”
Oof.
I can’t bring myself to protest.
God, now I’m letting this man treat us. I’m letting him in my home, letting him look into my life, and somehow, I need to find a way to be okay with that.
Okay enough to share some simple pizza without freaking out.
“Ready when you are, boss.” Smiling unevenly, I help Arlo out of his seat, and we hurry to the building.
Patton leads the way. I can tell by the way he walks that he’s checking to make sure our path is salted and safe. I’m glad the maintenance folks are good about that here.