“I don’t know if it’s nice,” I said honestly. “Sometimes I think we’re too controlled. My seven-year-old made himself a schedule this morning to manage his siblings because that’s what he’s learned from watching me. What kind of childhood is that?”
“Rome tried to rig a zip line from the stair landing to the sofa using jump ropes this morning,” Theresa said, a hint of amused despair in her voice. “He claimed it was for rapid transit to the kitchen. So there’s a balance somewhere between death-defying stunts and strict order.”
“Perhaps.” I paused, choosing my next words carefully. “Theresa, about last night?—”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” she said quickly. “I need you to know that. Even with all the guilt, even with Rome seeing us—it wasn’t a mistake.”
“Good.” Relief washed over me. “Because I’ve been replaying every moment, trying to determine if I’d completely miscalculated.”
“You didn’t miscalculate.” There was a pause. “But we need to be more careful. For the children.”
“Agreed. We both have bairns who are grieving. The last thing they need is adults making things more complicated.”
“Exactly.” She sounded relieved that I understood. “I’ll call in a few days. Once I’ve sorted out what to say to them.”
“Take whatever time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For understanding. For not pushing. For being—” She stopped, the emotion audible in her voice. “For being you.”
After we rang off, I sat holding the silent receiver for a moment longer than necessary. In the kitchen, my children argued about tigers and elephants. Alec was arguing based on weight and tusks, while Eoin insisted tigers were fiercer.
Mrs. Kowalski’s schedule sat abandoned on the side table.
Slowly but surely, this new place was beginning to feel like home.
Chapter
Thirteen
THERESA
The phone callwith Duncan MacLeod happened at eight in the morning—which meant it was four in the afternoon in Scotland, late enough that his engineering team would have reviewed our technical specifications.
I sat in Marco’s office with my notes spread across the desk, my Palm Pilot charged and ready, and a cup of coffee I’d already reheated twice. My hands shook slightly as I dialed the international number Lisa had provided.
“Duncan MacLeod.”
The voice was gruff, Scottish, utterly no-nonsense.
“Mr. MacLeod, this is Theresa Carideo from CarideoTech. I hope I’m not disturbing.”
“Mrs. Carideo. Good timing—we just finished our preliminary assessment of your technical specs.” There was a pause. “I have to say, my team here were even more impressed than I was. Your adaptive algorithm is genuinely innovative.”
I gripped the edge of the desk. “That’s wonderful to hear. We’ve spent three years refining the system.”
“It shows. My head engineer, who’s been doing this work for twenty-five years, said your glucose monitoring system is the most elegant solution he’s seen. That’s high praise from a man who thinks most innovations are ‘over-engineered rubbish.’”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I’d love to meet him someday.”
“You will. I’d like to move this from a letter of intent to actual contract negotiations.” All business now. “My solicitor is drafting a formal licensing agreement for the European market. But I’ll need the complete technical package from you—full manufacturing requirements, quality control protocols, your FDA approval timeline, all of it. How quickly can you get that together?”
My heart hammered. This was it—the real deal, not just preliminary interest. “End of this week. I can have everything to you by Friday.”
“That works. My team will review over the weekend, and we can discuss the terms early next week.” He paused. “Mrs. Carideo, I want to be clear about something. This isn’t just an excellent business opportunity for me—though it certainly is that. My youngest daughter has Type 1 diabetes. She’s fourteen, and she hates the constant finger pricks, hates feeling like her disease defines her. Your system could give her freedom she’s never had.”
