“I’d love that.” Kayla got up and hugged her. “I’m not cut out to be a rock star’s arm candy.”
“You’ve got to find a way to get over that incident in Paris,” Dimity said. “That security guard was an ignorant cretin.” She waited until Kayla had retaken her seat. “This industry is full of shallow people who think skin-deep is the right weight—don’t buy into it.”
“You’d have way more credibility if you were less obsessive about your own diet,” Kayla said dryly.
“It’s because I don’t have a healthy relationship with food that I appreciate someone who does,” Dimity said. “Have you ever told Jared what happened?”
“No, and I’m not going to.” She got hot and embarrassed even thinking about it.
“If you two are trying to reconnect, you need to talk about it. It’s really affected you.”
“Tell me again about the dotterels you saw in New Zealand,” Kayla said.
“If you want to change the subject, say so.” Dimity was all offended dignity. “What did you think of Joy Bar last night? I’m thinking of booking it for our Christmas party.”
Kayla shuddered. Like she was ever going there again. “Wait, how do you know that’s where we had our date?”
Dimity sat back as the waiter delivered their coffees and Kayla’s cake. “I recommended it to Jared, and booked the restaurant. It’s polite to cancel, by the way. They were pissed you didn’t show.”
Because we were otherwise occupied. “Are you telling me he didn’t even organize our date?” She paused, caught in a memory. But honey, I put it on the fridge calendar. All you had to do was…
“It’s a shame you never saw the dessert I ordered.” Dimity sipped her coffee and eyed one of the spoons on the chocolate cake.
“And the sexy strangers idea…was that yours, too?” This was beyond humiliating.
“No, but it sounds interesting.” Dimity picked the spoon. “Spill.”
*
The moment Kayla left the house, Jared phoned a cleaning service. The short notice cost him, but not as much as the dress, which had been more for his benefit, than Kayla’s anyway.
He spent thirty minutes tidying in preparation for the cleaner’s arrival, Rocco tottering after him pushing a toy lawnmower and Maddie locked down playing games on Jared’s cell.
When the cleaners arrived, he bundled up the kids and hit the stores so Maddie could buy Mommy’s Christmas present. She wanted to spend her own money, and sat firmly in the quantity-beats quality-camp, so they went to the dollar store. He also organized his own private present, again distracting his daughter with his cell. He couldn’t have her blabbing.
A text came from Kayla as they left the mall.
Can’t stop thinking about you. Maybe we could fit in another date before Christmas.
Grinning, he responded, then swung his son to his shoulders. “Who’s for ice cream?”
“Yes!”
Hell, yes.
The three of them spent the afternoon at his gym club, bouncing between the café and the heated kids pool. He was well-known there and people treated him casually. Rocco was the charmer, with his big smile and easy way of steadying himself on any pair of legs within reach.
They left the complex at three and called into the market where Jared bought ingredients for two meals—spaghetti for the kids, wine and deli goods for the grown-ups.
When they arrived home at four, the house looked awesome, Rocco was refreshed from a power nap in the car, and Jared had breezed through the day. But only amateurs would pat themselves on the back for good parenting. Jared knew he was on borrowed time.
Settling Maddie at the kitchen table with her mommy presents, sticky tape, kid scissors and a giant roll of wrapping paper, he stuck Rocco in his highchair with spoons and lids—the kid was a born percussionist—threw on an apron, and worked fast.
He made spaghetti sauce, mostly from scratch, even sneaking in a grated carrot when Maddie wasn’t looking. In between chopping and stirring, he laid out a platter of antipasto with all the food Kayla loved and the kids wouldn’t eat—marinated mushrooms and peppers, spicy dips and chorizo, smoked oysters.
Maddie finished wrapping gifts and used a Sharpie to write 4 Mommy laboriously on each. When Jared turned from stirring the spaghetti sauce, she was writing it on her baby brother’s forehead. Rocco’s mouth was open, and he was holding himself very still for her.
“Madison Walker!”
“But he likes it, Daddy.”
Rocco decided he liked the Sharpie more, and threw a tantrum when Maddie wouldn’t give it to him. Shit got real from there.
By the time six o’clock rolled around, the kids were in their PJs and wrapped in sheets eating his spaghetti, and Jared was exhausted. He’d just returned the kitchen to its pristine state when the doorbell rang.
Maddie nearly tripped over the sheet in her hurry to get there first. “Maybe Mommy forgot her key.”