by Anthology
I blinked my eyes and shook my head, trying to erase the thought. I needed to get a grip. The last thing I wanted was to become obsessed with someone who was not going to return my affections.
Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I clicked on the Kindle icon and dove into my novel, occasionally looking up to see if anyone was coming. It seemed the Sunday afternoon before Christmas was a slow day for wine tasting. I supposed people were out doing last minute shopping.
Sinking back into my fictional world, I was startled when I heard a man’s voice say, "Hi, Lauren."
I knew that voice. One that used to arouse me, but now it just angered me. Without looking up, I said with a clip, "Hey, Tom."
"Listen, you have every right to be totally pissed off."
My neck snapped up and I narrowed my eyes at him. "You don’t say."
He hung his head low. "A good friend had an emergency, and I had to go help her at the last minute."
I could only imagine the kind of help this "friend" needed. A grunt from a few feet away sounded, and I looked over to find Brett playing with his phone, his jaw ticking.
"Whatever, I did all right." I whirled around, flipping my hair back.
"I want to make it up to you, Lauren."
"How?" I asked, pretending to straighten up the back counter.
"Look over here."
Rolling my eyes, I turned half way around. Tom was waving tickets in the air. "You like the opera?"
Oh, damn. The opera? He had my number.
My demeanor changed at the sight of those opera tickets. I know opera was mostly for old people, but I’d always had a fascination with it, ever since our parents took us as kids. It meant dressing up and rubbing elbows with all the society people, and then having dinner at some posh restaurant late into the night. And being on the arm of a rich and gorgeous man—it was hard to resist.
Plus he actually had the tickets, so there was no bullshitting on his part. This looked like a sure thing. Given my doubts over Brett and his dating practices, I was very tempted to overlook Tom’s blunder last night. As long as I realized nothing would come of us, what was wrong with experiencing one fabulous night out?
Approaching Tom with a smile, I gushed, "I love the opera."
"Then come with me," he said with a wink. "They’re doing Verdi’s La Traviata."
My muscles went slack and I sighed. "Oh, that sounds fabulous."
Just then the back door slammed shut, startling me. Glancing to my right, I noticed Brett had vanished.
"What’s his problem?" Tom sneered.
I tensed up again. "I don’t know." I looked behind me and then back at Tom. "Can you wait here for a minute?"
Before he could answer, I joined Brett in the office, where I found him pacing around.
"Everything okay?" I timidly asked. I didn’t want to assume this was a bad reaction to Tom asking me out. As far as I knew, he could’ve gotten a disturbing email or text.
He jerked his head up and threw his arm toward the door. "You’re falling for that?"
I shrugged, shaking my head. "I don’t expect anything from him, but I wouldn’t mind a night out at the opera."
"You may not expect anything from him, but I’m pretty sure he’ll expect something at the end of the night."
At one time that would have appealed to me, but now after everything that’d happened last night, in addition to seeing the tormented look on Brett’s face, it gave me pause for thought.
"And did you even notice the hickey on his neck? It looked fresh, maybe from last night," Brett added. "Why are you even giving him the time of day, Lauren?"
Suddenly I felt tired. Burying my face in my hands, I sunk down on the top of the desk like dead weight. "What the hell is wrong with me?"
"Nothing, except you’re a bit gullible. And a little too swayed by a handsome face."
"I should’ve known I wasn’t good enough for him. He really is out of my league."
"That’s crap," he said, slowly approaching me. His fingertip touched my chin and he lifted my face to his. "You’re too good for him."
I guffawed, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah, right."
"You’re sweet, beautiful, and smart, yet you allow a jerk to treat you badly." He smoothed the back of my hair, creating tingles all along my spine. "You need to go out there and tell him where to stuff those tickets."
My eyes widened and I chuckled. "I’m not sure I can word it that way, but I will decline the invitation. Your remark about the hickey pretty much decided that one."
Standing up from the desk, I scooted past Brett and made my way to the door, pausing as I touched the door handle. I looked back at him. He was becoming more gorgeous by the second, and I had a sudden urge I couldn’t resist.
Sidling back over to Brett, who now wore a puzzled expression, I cupped his face in my hands and drew his lips to mine. My adrenaline spiked as I deepened the kiss. I let my fingers wander to the back of his hair, and he let out a groan when I slipped my tongue in his mouth.
Once I let him go, I giggled at his flushed cheeks and swollen lips. I noticed something else, too, which he immediately covered with the bottom of his shirt.
As I inched my way to the door, he told me with a sly grin, "I’ll be out in a sec."
Now I was blushing as I hesitantly returned to the front. Tom was still there, typing away on his phone and smiling. He was so into his texting, I had to clear my throat to get his attention.
"Oh, you’re back," said Tom, shoving his phone in his pocket. My eyes drifted toward his neck, where I saw a dark red splotch. Oh my, gosh.
"Yep, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to go with you to the opera."
"Oh? Why not?" He looked taken aback, as if this was the first time he’d been turned down.
Right on cue, Brett snuck out from the back and returned to his post, still sporting a grin.
Tom looked back and forth between us, his tight expression relaxing. "Oh, I understand completely." He opened his wallet and put the tickets back. "I’ll leave you two alone."
With that, he quickly retreated from the room, nearly slamming into a group of ladies coming up the walkway.
I glanced open mouthed at Brett. "Did he think we were hooking up in there?"
He shrugged and grinned. "Who cares? Let him think that."
Gasping, I came over and playfully punched his arm. "Slimeball," I joked.
He chuckled. "Okay, okay. Stop beating me up." His expression turned serious. "Hey, I know it’s not the opera or anything, but would you like to go to dinner with me this evening?"
"I’d love to."
Hours later, I was twirling Alfredo noodles around my fork as we dined at a local Italian restaurant, Geppetto’s. Brett and I had no trouble holding a conversation, and I felt relaxed in his company.
"You’ve got a nice appetite," he remarked, stabbing a fork into his sirloin steak. "I like it."
"Fettucine Alfredo is my favorite. And I think now that I’ve been released from my fixation on Tom, I’m starting to feel like ‘me’ again."
It was amazing how different I felt now that my obsession with Tom was over. The clouds had separated and I could see light. I just didn’t know the light had been by my side for months in the tasting room.
"Well, I’m glad to hear it. How much time did you waste on that guy?"
"I don’t know and right now I want to pretend he doesn’t exist."
"Fine by me."
Just then his phone lit up and he grabbed it, focusing on the screen. Without looking up, he said, "I’m sorry, but I’ve got to take this."
"Go ahead," I urged, taking another bite of creamy Alfredo noodles. It seemed he was often interrupted by phone calls, and I wanted to ask him more about his computer job. Then again, I was afraid he’d get too technical and I’d end up feeling dumb. I used computers for basic things: writing, using social media, and making spreadsheets. As far as troubleshooting, I was clueless.
He returned a few minutes later, apolog
izing for the interruption.
"It’s okay. People need computer help at all hours of the day. I understand."
"Uh…" he began in a strained voice. He shifted in his seat. "Lauren, there’s something I want to show you."
He fiddled with his phone and slid it over to me, pointing to the screen. My mood brightened at the photo of him with a little blond girl, who had his exact eyes.
"Oh, she’s adorable. A niece, I presume?" I slid the phone back.
Blowing out a big breath, he replied, "No. Actually…she’s my daughter."
After I recovered from the shock, I stuttered, "I-I didn’t realize you’d ever been married. I mean, you were married?"
A darkness overtook his face. "Yes, for three years."
"Is your daughter with her now?" And is your ex going to make my life miserable?
He bent his head low and shook it slightly. "Annabelle is with our neighbor. My wife passed away a year and a half ago from cancer."
My stomach fell, and I slumped against the chair. "Oh, Brett. I had no idea," I said. "So, all these phone calls…they aren’t work calls, are they?"
"Well, a few of them were, but the one I just had was from Annabelle. She wanted to kiss me goodnight."
My heart warmed at that. "She sounds like a doll. How old is she?"
"Three, almost four."
"I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you. Do you have any family around?"
"No, my wife’s parents are both gone, and mine are across the country, tending to my sister. She’s got a lot of problems."
He went on to explain how his younger sister had been in and out of rehab multiple times, so Brett chose to stay out of the way for now, not wanting Annabelle in the middle of the drama. I got the impression he was a really good dad, but I wondered why he worked weekends.
"My job allows me to be home with her, so other than a few hours of preschool, she’s with me twenty-four seven during the week. Having the winery job gives me a chance to get out and be around adults."
"Ah, that makes sense."
We were quiet for a moment.
"Listen," he finally said. "I know I’ve dumped a lot on you, and I understand if you’re not ready to date a guy who has a kid. That’s why I’m telling you upfront. You’d be surprised how many women I’ve chased away with this news."
My shoulders dropped at his honesty. "Well, you were dating the wrong women, clearly. Yeah, it’s a lot to swallow, but I like you, Brett." And I’m honored you’d consider me for the role of mothering your daughter, I thought but didn’t dare say out loud. I mean, a guy in his position wouldn’t waste his time with someone he didn’t see as suitable mom material.
Then again, what was I implying? I adored Brett, but was I ready to fill the shoes of his late wife? I was only twenty-four, just a few years out of college. Maybe I needed to think about this first. My mind was swimming with conflicting arguments, all while Brett sat there with a heavy expression.
Yet when I looked at him, I found it hard to believe any woman in her right mind would walk away from such a wonderful guy just because he had a little girl.
"You want to meet her?" Brett’s voice startled me out of my thoughts.
"Who? Annabelle?"
"Yeah. I can just introduce you as a friend. No pressure, I promise you."
Oh, Lord, what do I do?
Chapter Five
My bright striped pillowcase was darkened with tear stains, yet the tears kept coming. Ever since Brett told me he was a single dad due to his wife’s premature death, I’d been struggling to keep my emotions in check. I was even more of a mess after he mentioned the women who’d rejected him because of his "baggage." I hurt for him.
When he asked if I wanted to meet Annabelle, what could I say? I told him I’d love to meet her, though we didn’t schedule a particular time. We were a week away from Christmas, and I figured we’d wait until after the holidays for any introductions. My heart and intuition told me it was fine to date Brett, but my logic argued with them. Or maybe it was my insecurities.
He gave me a sweet, safe kiss upon dropping me off, right after apologizing for "dumping" things on me. I assured him he didn’t have to excuse away his status as a widowed father. In fact, I told him it was crazy to apologize for such a thing.
"I don’t think I deserve you," I’d said, using his words regarding Tom and me.
"Nonsense. I wouldn’t have taken you out if I didn’t like you."
I smiled, holding back the huge lump in my throat. "I’d better let you get home to your daughter."
"All right." He gave me one last peck. "Thank you."
He watched me walk inside, and then, ducking past anyone who could see me, I bolted up to my room and buried my head in my pillow. I cried for Brett, who’d experienced a terrible loss. I cried for Annabelle, who probably had very few memories of her mother.
Where could I possibly fit in to this fractured little family?
The next morning, still reeling from Brett’s tragic story, I gave my mom a hug from behind as she stood at the sink washing dishes.
"What’s this for?" she questioned. "I mean, whatever it is, I’ll take it."
"Hmm…just because I love you," I said, now taking a seat at the table.
She turned her head to smile at me. "And, I love you, too. How was your date last night?"
"It was really nice," I said, pausing before I continued. "Did you know Brett has a daughter?"
She stilled, sighing. "Yes."
"What?" I cried. "And you didn’t tell me?"
She set down the dish and sponge and rotated around. "First of all, I didn’t want you to consider him off-limits. Secondly, it needed to come from him."
"So you think I’m ready to be a mommy?"
"I don’t think it’s out of the question, no."
She went on. "Let’s face it, a lot of guys your age—and older—are only after one thing. I don’t see Brett as being that way. Good men like him are hard to come by."
She returned to the dishes, just as my phone buzzed, indicating a text message.
Hey, Lauren. Just checking in. I’m about to start my work day, but I wanted to tell you what a nice time I had last night. Hope you did, too. I’ll talk to you later. Yours, Brett
Something about the way he said "yours" gave me a cozy feeling inside. I clutched the phone to my chest, and then read through the text a few more times.
"You’re right, Mom. I just worry about being good enough for him. His wife was probably a great mom and a fabulous cook," I sighed. "…and I’m sure he misses her terribly."
"All those things might be true, but try not to dwell on those. Grandma Rose and Grandpa Fred married each other after both being widowed, and they’ve been very happy together."
"I know. I just never thought I’d be an instant mom."
"The thing is, don’t analyze it to death. If you do, you’ll drive yourself crazy. Get to know him, meet his daughter, and spend time with them. You’ll know the right thing to do. And remember, sometimes life takes us down a path we’d never consider, but in the end could turn out to be a beautiful thing."
I wanted to write those words down. It was true, after all. Up until now, I’d been floating through life, struggling through dead-end relationships and getting caught up in fantasies that only belonged in romance novels.
Really there was no reason I couldn’t turn out to be a good stepmom to Annabelle. I was a girl, she was a girl—how hard could it be? Over the next few days of texting back and forth with Brett, I stopped stressing about it, like Mom suggested. I made up my mind to let things happen naturally. Still, when Brett sent me this text a few days before Christmas, I froze:
I know you probably have a big family gathering on Christmas Day, but I’d love for you to stop by in the afternoon or evening, if you can. It’ll just be me and Annabelle.
I took in a deep breath as I tried to calm my stomach flutters.
I’ll try. Send me your address, I replied.
/> He immediately got back to me with his address, adding, I really hope to see you.
No promises, but I will try.
After I hit "send," I felt guilty. Escaping a large family gathering on Christmas wouldn’t be any trouble. I could easily slip away without anyone seeing me, if I was sneaky enough. I’d just be one of many dark-haired Italians roaming around, grubbing on raviolis.
The problem was, I was still fighting insecurity. Being at his home on Christmas of all days—alone with him and his daughter—seemed intimidating. I was sure he shared many holiday memories with his wife, and I was scared of being compared with her. And as insensitive as it seemed, I didn’t embrace the idea of him reminiscing about her, while I sat there feeling inadequate.
But he wants you there, my subconscious told me. I wanted to listen to that inner voice because something told me Brett would go out of his way to make me feel welcome. He wouldn’t do anything to make it awkward for me; he was just that kind of guy.
We continued texting back and forth all the way until the night of Christmas Eve, when he said, I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
That text made it hard for me to chicken out, but I still went ahead and told my sister and mom about Brett’s invitation, just so I could have that extra push. They’d both made it quite clear they approved of my dating Brett.
I was so nervous the next day, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to eat. Nothing sucked worse than not having an appetite when faced with a holiday feast, Gotelli-style. As we sat around the table, I pretended to listen to the various conversations. I couldn’t care less who said what to whom and where my aunt’s co-worker went on her extended vacation, and blah blah blah. All that mattered to me was having Annabelle like me. Because if she didn’t, I could kiss Brett goodbye.
I shivered at the thought, but what if it came to that?
"Stop worrying, Sister. Everything will be fine," Becca reassured me, shoving a piece of pumpkin pie my way. I waved it away, clutching my stomach.
"What time is it?" I asked with a parched throat.
"Why don’t you check your watch, dingbat?" she said, pointing to my wristwatch.