A Natural Father

by Sarah Mayberry

  “Dessert?” she repeated.

  “You know, the stuff everyone tells us is bad for us but that we keep eating anyway.”

  She laughed. “Right. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting…Come in,” she said.

  She stood aside and he stepped past her into the flat. He took in her small combined living and dining room, noting her rustic dining table and her earthy brown couch with beige and grass-green cushions. A number of black-and-white photographs graced the walls—the desert at sunset, an empty beach, an extreme close-up of a glistening spiderweb.

  “You really didn’t have to do this,” Lucy said as she moved past him to the kitchenette that filled one corner of the small flat.

  “It was no big deal. It’s on my way home,” he said.

  Technically, it was kind of true. If he was taking the really, really scenic route.

  Lucy placed two plates on the counter.

  “Would you like coffee or something else with…I don’t even know what you brought,” she said. She sounded bemused again but he refused to feel bad about ambushing her.

  “Tiramisu. Like a good Italian boy,” he said.

  “I love tiramisu.”

  “It’s in the blood. We’ve been trained from birth to love it.”

  He handed over the pastry box and she peeled away the paper.

  “Good lord, this thing is monstrous. There’s no way we can eat all of this,” she said.

  He made a show of peering into the box.

  “Speak for yourself.”

  She smiled and gave him a challenging look as she divided the huge portion into two uneven servings, sliding the much larger piece onto a plate and pushing it toward him.

  “I dare you.”

  “You should know I never back out on a dare,” he warned her.

  She handed him a fork, a smile playing about her lips. He followed her to the dining table where she sat at the end and he took the chair to her left. She’d barely sat before she was standing again.

  “Coffee! I forgot your coffee. These bloody pregnancy hormones have turned my brain into Swiss cheese,” she said.

  He grabbed her arm before she could move back to the kitchen.

  “Relax. I don’t need coffee,” he said.

  Her arm felt slim but strong beneath his hand. He forced himself to let her go, and she sank into the chair.

  For a moment there was nothing but the sound of forks clinking against plates as they each took a mouthful.

  “Before I forget,” Dom said.

  He leaned forward to pull her papers from his back pocket, then slid them across the table.

  Lucy’s face clouded as she looked at them.

  “Thanks.”

  “Why do I feel like I just handed you an execution order?”

  Her gaze flicked to his face, then away again.

  “It’s nothing. Less than nothing. I’m sorry you wasted your time on them.”

  She pushed the papers away as though she never wanted to see them again.

  He took a mouthful of his dessert and studied her. She looked tired. Maybe even a little beaten. The same vibe he’d sensed from her this morning.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

  She looked surprised. Then she shook her head. “You don’t want to hear all my problems,” she said after a long moment.

  “Come on, you have to talk to me. You made me come all this way for papers that mean nothing, you’re eating my tiramisu. What’s in this for me?” he said.

  She huffed out a laugh at his outrageous twisting of the truth. “When you put it that way…” She gave him a searching look then shrugged. “Just yawn or fall face-first into your food when you’ve heard enough.”

  “Don’t worry. I have plenty of cunning strategies to escape boring conversations. I have three aunts and four uncles.”

  Briefly she outlined her plans for Market Fresh—her goal to go online to grow the business, her plans to lease a second delivery van. She sat a little straighter as she talked and color came into her cheeks. She loved what she was doing, what she was building. And he was quietly impressed with her strategy. Apart from the all-too-apparent hiccup curving the front of her dressing gown, she sounded perfectly situated to take the next step.

  “Absolutely,” she agreed with him. “Except for one tiny little thing—the bank doesn’t agree with me. They won’t lend me the money I need to get my Web site built. Without the site, I can’t generate more business, and without more business I can’t afford to put on a second van.”

  Lucy looked down and seemed surprised that she’d polished off her dessert.

  “So, basically, I’m screwed,” she said.

  “Lucia Basso. If your mother could hear you now,” he said, mostly because he hated the despairing look that had crept into her eyes.

  “It’s okay. She already thinks I’m screwed. It won’t be news to her.”

  She met his gaze across the table, and they both burst into laughter. She laughed so hard she had to lean back in her chair and hold her stomach. By the time she’d gained a modicum of control, tears were rolling down her face.

  “God, I needed that,” she said. Then her eyes went wide and she straightened in her chair as though someone had goosed her. “Oh!”

  Both hands clutched her belly and she stared at Dom.

  “What? Is something wrong?” he asked, already half out of his chair.

  “The baby just moved!”

  “Right.” He felt like an idiot for being on the verge of calling the paramedics.

  “It’s the first time,” she explained excitedly. “All the pregnancy books say I should start feeling something about now, and I’ve been waiting and waiting but there’s been nothing—”

  Her eyes went wide again and she smiled.

  “There he goes again!” she said. “This is incredible! Dom, you have to feel this.”

  Before he knew what she was doing she’d pushed aside her dressing gown to reveal the thin T-shirt she was wearing underneath, grabbed his hand and pressed his palm to her belly. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric, the rise and fall of her body as she breathed.

  “Can you feel it?” she asked, her voice hushed as though the baby might overhear her and stop performing.

  He shook his head, acutely self-conscious. He didn’t know what to do with his fingers, whether to relax them into her body or keep his hand stiff. He could smell her perfume and feel the swell of her breast pressing against his forearm.

  “Relax your hand more,” she instructed, frowning in concentration. He let his hand soften and she slid it over her belly, pressing it against herself with both hands.

  Still he could feel nothing. She bit her lip.

  “Maybe he’s tired,” she said.

  Beneath his palm, he felt a faint surge, the smallest of disturbances beneath her skin.

  He laughed and she grinned at him.

  “Tell me you felt that?”

  “I felt it.”

  They smiled at each other like idiots, his hand curved against her belly. He knew the exact moment the wonder of the moment wore off and she became self-aware again. He pulled his hand free at the same time that she released her grip on him. They both sat back in their chairs, an awkwardness between them that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.

  “I should go,” he said. “You’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

  “Yours is earlier,” she said.

  They both stood.

  “About the business…something will come up,” he said.

  She shrugged. “Or it won’t. I’ll muddle through, I’m sure.”

  Her hand found her stomach, holding it protectively. He followed her to the door.

  “Thanks for the tiramisu,” she said with a small smile. “And for bringing my Web site stuff back.”

  “Like I said, it was on the way home. And I would have eaten all the tiramisu on my own if I’d had the chance. You saved me from myself.”

  He patted
his stomach and she laughed, as he’d known she would. He hovered on the doorstep, unwilling to leave her just yet.

  “What does it feel like?” he asked suddenly. “When the baby moves inside you?”

  Her expression grew distant, and she cocked her head to one side. He had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her cheek to see if her skin really was as soft and smooth as it appeared.

  “The books say it’s like butterflies fluttering,” she said after a moment. “Some women say it’s like gas.”

  “Butterflies or gas. Right.”

  She smiled. “The closest thing I can come up with is that it’s like when a goldfish brushes up against your hand. Only on the inside, if that makes sense.”

  She was so beautiful, standing there with her uncertain eyes and her smiling mouth and her rounded stomach. He wanted to kiss her. He took a step backward.

  “Good night, Lucy Basso,” he said.

  “Good night, Dom.”

  He told himself he was being smart and fair as he walked down the darkened driveway to the street. She was pregnant. He had no business chasing her.

  And yet he felt like he was letting yet another opportunity slip through his fingers.

  He flexed his hand as he remembered the flutter of movement he’d felt beneath his palm. A smile curved his mouth as he started his car. She’d been so delighted, so amazed. He was stupidly happy that he’d been there to share the moment with her.

  He sobered as he registered where his thoughts were going. This wasn’t his baby. Lucy wasn’t his wife or partner. He wouldn’t be sharing any more moments of discovery with her—or with any other woman, for that matter.

  There was a message from his father on his answering machine when he arrived home, asking him to call back. His father sounded sleepy when he answered the phone.

  “You are late. Where have you been?”

  Dom raised his eyebrows at his father’s nosiness. “Out. What’s up?”

  “Out where? Out with girl?”

  The joys of working with his family—they felt they owned his life.

  “Pa.”

  He heard his father sigh.

  “I need you to make run to Lilydale tomorrow to collect more zucchini from Giametti’s. We short and I promise dozen boxes to Vue De Monde,” his father explained.

  Dom rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. What his father was suggesting would mean he had to get up an extra two hours early in order to have the stock on hand for their customers.

  “You know, if you’d let me manage the stock on the computer, we wouldn’t have these kinds of problems,” he said lightly.

  To his surprise, his father blew up, sending a string of expletives and curses down the phone.

  “I sick of hearing about computers. You said you not talk about them again. I expect you to honor this even if you honor nothing else!”

  Dom let his breath out between his teeth. He loved his father, but he wasn’t a little boy anymore, and he certainly didn’t have to take crap from him—especially when it was out-of-line, unearned crap.

  “Am I part of Bianco Brothers or not?” he asked.

  “You are my son. This is stupid question.”

  “Answer the question, Pa.”

  “You are part of business. You there every day. You can’t work out for yourself?”

  “So I’m an employee. Like Steve and Michael and Anna?”

  “You are my son.”

  Dom didn’t say a word, waiting for his father to stop hedging. The silence stretched tensely for long seconds before his father spoke again.

  “What you want from me? You my right-arm man,” his father said, messing up his Anglo phrasing the way he often did. “I not manage without you. There. Happy now?”

  “If that’s true, if I’m your second in command, I want a say. I want a vote. And I want a bit of respect while you’re at it,” Dom said.

  “Respect! You talk respect when you speak to your own father like he is idiot who doesn’t know anything about anything. You have place in my business, good job. You should be grateful, counting your lucky stars, instead of whining and complaining.”

  Dom held the phone away from his ear and swore long and loud. Why did he bother? Hadn’t he banged his head against this brick wall just the other day? His father didn’t want to change. He was old. And the truth was, Bianco Brothers was so successful that his father wouldn’t notice the business they would lose over the coming years as their competitors got leaner and meaner and more efficient. By the time his father was ready to retire—or he dropped dead on the job, which was just as likely—Dom would be left with the task of picking up the pieces and trying to claw back market share.

  If he chose to take it.

  “Good night, Pa,” he said. Then he ended the call.

  “My business,” his father had said. Not “our business.”

  Dom leaned against the kitchen counter. He had some decisions to make. If his father wasn’t going to allow him to grow, to have a say…Well, maybe Dom needed to forge his own way.

  * * *

  LUCY FELT RIDICULOUSLY shy as she arrived at the market the following morning. Last night she’d pressed Dom’s hand against her belly, practically strong-arming him into sharing her baby’s first movements.

  What had she been thinking? As if he cared what was going on in her belly. He was her wholesale supplier, for Pete’s sake. The guy who used to sit two pews forward of her own family in church when they were kids. He didn’t want to know what her baby felt like when it kicked. Every time she remembered how she’d pressed his hand against herself her toes curled in her shoes.

  It wasn’t until after he’d gone that she’d looked in the mirror and seen how puffy and red her eyes were. There was no way he wouldn’t have guessed she’d been crying. She could only imagine what he thought of her: poor, lonely Lucy, desperate for company.

  She was relieved when she approached the stall and saw Dom was busy with another customer and his father was free. Mr. Bianco could help her with her order, and she wouldn’t have to talk to Dom today. One small thing going her way for a change.

  “Lucy. You look beautiful,” Mr. Bianco greeted her, his chubby arms spread wide.

  Dom glanced up from where he was standing nearby. His dark gaze was unreadable as he noted her.

  “I’ll look after Lucy, Pa,” he said.

  “You are busy,” Mr. Bianco said dismissively.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” Dom said, addressing Lucy and not his father.

  There was a definite tension between the two men, and Lucy shrugged uncomfortably.

  “Sure. Whatever suits you guys,” she said.

  Mr. Bianco opened his mouth to protest, but Dom nailed him with a look that had Mr. Bianco muttering under his breath as he moved off to serve someone else.

  Lucy fiddled with the strap on her bag, nervous all over again now that she was going to have to face Dom after all. Maybe she should apologize for last night, for thrusting her baby bump at him. Just get the awkwardness out of the way and move on.

  “Okay. Sorry about that,” Dom said.

  She looked up, words of apology on the tip of her tongue.

  “Listen, have you got time for a coffee? Sorry, a hot chocolate? Twenty minutes?” Dom asked.

  She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Why did this man keep taking her by surprise?

  “Sure,” she finally managed to croak.

  Dom called out to his father that he was taking a break. Lucy left her trolley next to the stall and followed him to a café in the group of permanent shops that ran along Victoria Street beside the market. The woman behind the counter greeted him with a smile.

  “We’ll have two hot chocolates, Polly,” he called as they sat.

  Lucy clasped her hands nervously in front of her as Dom gave her his full attention. She had no idea what he was going to say to her, and she found his intense gaze unnerving. Suddenly all she could think about was how hot and heavy his hand had felt
against her body last night.

  Talk about inappropriate.

  “I’ve been giving some thought to what we talked about last night,” he said. “About your business and your plans for the future.”

  Lucy nodded. Right. He was going to offer her some advice, probably suggest she talk to one of the second-tier banks like everyone else had. She schooled herself to be patient. He was being kind, after all. And she’d shown herself to be in need of kindness last night.

  “How would you feel about taking on a business partner?” Dom asked.

  She blinked. “Excuse me?” she asked stupidly.

  He smiled. “Bit out of the blue, huh? I think you’ve got some great ideas for your business, and I think you’ve tapped into a strong niche market. Market Fresh has a lot of potential. There’s no reason why you couldn’t be operating across the city, even expanding into other states.”

  He smoothed some papers out on the table between them.

  “What I’m proposing is a fifty-fifty business partnership. I’ll put up the capital to expand the business and build the Web site. You’ll bring the existing business and your expertise to the table.” He paused to look at her, his eyebrows raised in question.

  She was too busy grappling for a mental foothold to say anything. Dom wanted to buy into her business? Become her partner? Give her the money she needed to make her business a success?

  “But you already have a business,” she said, blurting out the first thought that popped into her mind.

  “No. My father has a business. I just work for him,” he said. There was a tightness around his mouth that hadn’t been there yesterday. A determination.

  “You don’t know anything about my business. You haven’t seen the books. You have no idea what my turnover is,” she said, frowning.

  “Of course I’d want my accountant to take a look at things before we signed anything. I guess what I’m asking at this stage is if this sounds like something you might consider?” Dom asked.

  Their hot chocolates arrived, and Lucy bought some time by fiddling with her cup and saucer.

  Did she want a business partner? Being her own boss had been part of the appeal of starting Market Fresh, but taking on a partner wouldn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t still have her independence. It would mean compromises though, having to listen to other ideas and incorporate them into her plans.