Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Hopefully, meeting her grandson will soothe some of her anger.
I tuck my phone away into my pocket and look up in time to see Emma coming out of the airport sliding doors. Red hair tied up into a bun, a young boy with a mess of dark curls clinging to her legs as she tries to maneuver a luggage cart stacked high with far more than it is designed to carry.
“Emma,” I say, waving a hand above my head so she can find me.
Her eyes snap to me in an instant, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping. The smile on my face threatens to turn sinister, but I force myself to play nice. I can’t run her off yet. The airport is the last place I need a public struggle. Until we get home, I have to keep my cards tight to my chest.
She pushes the kid behind her as if I haven't noticed the boy yet. It’s hard to hide my reaction to seeing him. I could tell from the photos he looks like me, but it's more obvious when he's right in front of me.
I jog over to her, and I think the parking enforcement officer lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh god, this can’t be happening,” Emma mutters from under her breath. I don’t think I'm supposed to hear her, so I ignore it.
“Here, let me help you,” I offer. I reach for the luggage cart, but she has an iron grip on it. Her face has faded to a ghostly white color, and she eyes me cautiously.
“I can call a cab. Yes. I think I should call a cab. ”
While I'm in her presence, I don't think she's talking to me. Instead, it seems I'm privy to. a conversation she meant to keep inside of her head. I let out a small chuckle and shake my head. “Why would you do that? I’m already here.”
Her tongue darts out from between her lips, licking her bottom lip before pulling it between her teeth. The view is too distracting to look away from. I also make a mental reminder to never allow her to play poker, because her tell hasn’t changed since I met her five years ago.
I rest a hand on the cart, not letting her pull away or escape from me. “The sooner we’re able to get you settled, the sooner we can get you to your dad.”
“I don’t know,” she says, her eyes darting along the cars idling at the curbside.
“I think parking enforcement over there is about to give me a ticket for being here for so long,” I tell her. In a moment of weakness as she turns to look at the officer, her grip weakens, and I pull it away from her. I bring it over to the car and start loading in the bags before she gets her bearings.
The boy peaks out at me from behind his mother’s legs, curious eyes assessing the situation for himself. He’s too young to realize we have the same Roman nose and high cheekbones, that our eyes are the same shade and our hair the same dark brown, but part of me wonders if he can tell. Maybe not in the obvious way. Dad is a title I'm going to have to earn. But maybe, I feel a little bit like coming home to him.
She must take me for an idiot if she doesn’t think I know. Even if I didn’t, even if this had been a perfectly innocent meeting, I would have realized the second I saw him.
“He’s forward-facing now, right?”
“Um, yes.”
The question catches her off-guard. I spent too long on the internet, reading about children. Car seats are a big discussion topic on parenting forums. Apparently, the age when you turn a child around can be quite controversial.
It isn’t something that should annoy me, that we never had these discussions. But it does. She should have involved me in these decisions. Instead of voicing this, I make sure the car seat is tight enough.
“So, do you have a wife or any kids?” she asks.
I hold back my pleasure at her question as I catch her trying to glimpse at my left hand where a ring would sit if I were married. “No kids, no wife. Not yet, at least.”
“Oh.”
I move out of her way so she can get Matteo into his seat. The kid is quiet, but he watches us closely. He watches the way his mom responds to me. When I smile at him, he glances at his mom to make sure he can smile back.
“My name is Enzo. What’s your name, buddy?” I introduce myself. Enzo isn't what I want to say, but it's what I need to.
“Matteo.”
Emma freezes as the name leaves his lips. I deserve an Oscar for the performance I’m putting on. She isn’t exactly subtle as she waits for me to react.