She laughed and took his hand. “How’d you know?”
“Isabel, you remember her? She said I looked like him and then all the other girls, they said it too.”
A year ago, he’d have said it with mild disinterest. Now, well, now he thought it was pretty cool, she could tell.
“It’s not every day awesome rock-star bass players just come over for tea and biscuits. I can put it together. Anyway, why’d he bail for so long?”
“He didn’t know. I told you, Tina only finally admitted who the dad was in the hospital. I had to track him down. I don’t know him that well, but I do know he’s really excited about you.”
“Yeah? I guess that’d be all right. Here, right? With you around?”
He looked very young just then, vulnerable, and she vowed that should Adrian Brown ever harm her baby, she would cut his bollocks off with a rusty fork.
“I thought it would be fun, and sort of you know, low key, if we made pizza. He could come over and make them with us. Would that work for you? I’ll be here the whole time,” she added at his questioning look.
Admittedly, she felt a little better. She didn’t know what she thought. That’d he’d see the shiny daddy who is a rich rock star and perhaps forget about her? Petty and silly, but it had been a worry, albeit a very small one.
“You’ll stay? For the whole time?”
“Of course. Look, if you don’t feel ready, that’s okay too. We can start out with a phone call or two, or even some letters and e-mails. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I think pizza could be all right. As long as you’re here.”
“Definitely.”
7
Adrian juggled the photo album, a bottle of wine and the box of cupcakes to raise his hand enough to ring the bell. A bicycle was parked against the side of the house.
His son’s bicycle.
Before he could have a panic attack over it, Gillian opened the door and took his breath away. Her hair was in a high ponytail. She wore an argyle sweater of all things, but holy shit she filled it out. Couldn’t see any skin other than at her wrists and yet she looked ridiculously sexy anyway. Black pants hugged her legs and led to bare feet with deep red toenails.
She wore glasses and absolutely no makeup. And she was hotter than the sun.
“Hi, Adrian. Come in. We’re in the kitchen.” She took the bakery box and he followed her through the house and found himself in the kitchen, face-to-face with his son.
“Adrian, this is Miles. Miles, this is Adrian Brown.”
Miles looked as nervous as Adrian felt. He’d asked Brody’s opinion as to whether he should hug the boy. Elise had urged him to just let Miles lead. To be open and affectionate, but to respect the boy’s space and also his nervousness.
“Hey.” Miles tipped his chin and Adrian tipped his back, only with a grin. One the boy mimicked and sent a shock of recognition through him.
“Hey yourself. Big week, huh?”
Gillian laughed, taking the wine and the photo album, making sure he saw where she’d placed it on a nearby table.
“Okay, Adrian, we’re rolling out dough and cutting up toppings. Do you have a preference?” The take-charge way Gillian spoke seemed to calm Miles down as it did Adrian.
“I’ll wash up.” He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up and caught Gillian looking. She blushed and turned her attention back to the island where Miles was shredding cheese.
Well now.
Forearms? Guitar playing had given him decent ones, he supposed, looking at them as he scrubbed his hands.
He turned and took the towel she held out.
“I’m a good hand with dough rolling. I worked at an Italian restaurant for two years back in the day.”
“Nice!” She pointed at the balls of dough covered with a cloth. “There they are. Pans are oiled and there’s a dusting of cornmeal on them.”
He began to work, letting the simplicity of the moment and what they were doing roll over him. “So, Miles, I just wanted to tell you how proud I am to be your father. I apologize for not being in your life before this. But I hope you’ll let me make it up to you.”
Miles looked up from the cheese and then over to his mother before nodding. “Okay.”
“What’s your favorite subject in school?” He had to get to know his kid sometime; it seemed good to start with the easy stuff.
“Science.”
Gillian moved around with quiet efficiency, slicing onions and mushrooms. She poured a glass of juice and put it at Miles’s side. Miles leaned his head over toward her, touching her just briefly. She smiled, closing her eyes for a moment and while that easy intimacy reminded him of how he had lost out on thirteen years of Miles’s life, he also found himself comforted by it.
“Adrian, would you like juice? Water? Beer? Wine?”
He paused, not knowing. He’d brought wine, but he didn’t want his son to think he was some drunken rock star.
“Why don’t you start with some juice and we can have wine with dinner? Does that work?” She poured herself a glass and he nodded, grateful.
“Thanks.”
“What was your favorite subject in school?” Miles surprised him by asking.
“History. I still love it.”
“What period?”
“All of it really, but I have a soft spot for American history. Especially’round the end of the nineteenth, beginning of the twentieth century.”
“Isabel, you remember her? She said I looked like him and then all the other girls, they said it too.”
A year ago, he’d have said it with mild disinterest. Now, well, now he thought it was pretty cool, she could tell.
“It’s not every day awesome rock-star bass players just come over for tea and biscuits. I can put it together. Anyway, why’d he bail for so long?”
“He didn’t know. I told you, Tina only finally admitted who the dad was in the hospital. I had to track him down. I don’t know him that well, but I do know he’s really excited about you.”
“Yeah? I guess that’d be all right. Here, right? With you around?”
He looked very young just then, vulnerable, and she vowed that should Adrian Brown ever harm her baby, she would cut his bollocks off with a rusty fork.
“I thought it would be fun, and sort of you know, low key, if we made pizza. He could come over and make them with us. Would that work for you? I’ll be here the whole time,” she added at his questioning look.
Admittedly, she felt a little better. She didn’t know what she thought. That’d he’d see the shiny daddy who is a rich rock star and perhaps forget about her? Petty and silly, but it had been a worry, albeit a very small one.
“You’ll stay? For the whole time?”
“Of course. Look, if you don’t feel ready, that’s okay too. We can start out with a phone call or two, or even some letters and e-mails. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I think pizza could be all right. As long as you’re here.”
“Definitely.”
7
Adrian juggled the photo album, a bottle of wine and the box of cupcakes to raise his hand enough to ring the bell. A bicycle was parked against the side of the house.
His son’s bicycle.
Before he could have a panic attack over it, Gillian opened the door and took his breath away. Her hair was in a high ponytail. She wore an argyle sweater of all things, but holy shit she filled it out. Couldn’t see any skin other than at her wrists and yet she looked ridiculously sexy anyway. Black pants hugged her legs and led to bare feet with deep red toenails.
She wore glasses and absolutely no makeup. And she was hotter than the sun.
“Hi, Adrian. Come in. We’re in the kitchen.” She took the bakery box and he followed her through the house and found himself in the kitchen, face-to-face with his son.
“Adrian, this is Miles. Miles, this is Adrian Brown.”
Miles looked as nervous as Adrian felt. He’d asked Brody’s opinion as to whether he should hug the boy. Elise had urged him to just let Miles lead. To be open and affectionate, but to respect the boy’s space and also his nervousness.
“Hey.” Miles tipped his chin and Adrian tipped his back, only with a grin. One the boy mimicked and sent a shock of recognition through him.
“Hey yourself. Big week, huh?”
Gillian laughed, taking the wine and the photo album, making sure he saw where she’d placed it on a nearby table.
“Okay, Adrian, we’re rolling out dough and cutting up toppings. Do you have a preference?” The take-charge way Gillian spoke seemed to calm Miles down as it did Adrian.
“I’ll wash up.” He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up and caught Gillian looking. She blushed and turned her attention back to the island where Miles was shredding cheese.
Well now.
Forearms? Guitar playing had given him decent ones, he supposed, looking at them as he scrubbed his hands.
He turned and took the towel she held out.
“I’m a good hand with dough rolling. I worked at an Italian restaurant for two years back in the day.”
“Nice!” She pointed at the balls of dough covered with a cloth. “There they are. Pans are oiled and there’s a dusting of cornmeal on them.”
He began to work, letting the simplicity of the moment and what they were doing roll over him. “So, Miles, I just wanted to tell you how proud I am to be your father. I apologize for not being in your life before this. But I hope you’ll let me make it up to you.”
Miles looked up from the cheese and then over to his mother before nodding. “Okay.”
“What’s your favorite subject in school?” He had to get to know his kid sometime; it seemed good to start with the easy stuff.
“Science.”
Gillian moved around with quiet efficiency, slicing onions and mushrooms. She poured a glass of juice and put it at Miles’s side. Miles leaned his head over toward her, touching her just briefly. She smiled, closing her eyes for a moment and while that easy intimacy reminded him of how he had lost out on thirteen years of Miles’s life, he also found himself comforted by it.
“Adrian, would you like juice? Water? Beer? Wine?”
He paused, not knowing. He’d brought wine, but he didn’t want his son to think he was some drunken rock star.
“Why don’t you start with some juice and we can have wine with dinner? Does that work?” She poured herself a glass and he nodded, grateful.
“Thanks.”
“What was your favorite subject in school?” Miles surprised him by asking.
“History. I still love it.”
“What period?”
“All of it really, but I have a soft spot for American history. Especially’round the end of the nineteenth, beginning of the twentieth century.”
