“You don’t have to. I can hire someone online.”
“No. I would love to help.”
Her eyes light up. “You would?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m ready, willing, and able. I’m here to do whatever you need.”
A playful smile dances on her lips. “Well, I guess you better put me down, or we’ll get nothing done.”
I’d almost forgotten I was still holding her. “Right,” I mumble, feeling like a tool. “What do you want me to do first?”
She slides down my body as I release her, a little too close not to be flirtatious. “Well, why don’t I show you everything I have on my list, and we’ll go from there?”
“I’m your man,” I say and stop myself from continuing.
Where the hell did that come from? Again, when I’m around Tilly, I don’t feel like Angelo the widower. I feel like Angelo the red-blooded American male.
Six hours later, we have the majority of her list completed. Her contractor was ripping her off and working at a snail’s pace to get more money out of her. There’s no reason any of this shouldn’t have been finished already. But in a way, I’m thankful. Without his fuck-up, I wouldn’t be sitting next to her on the floor, exhausted and feeling more content than I have in a long time.
“Tilly.” I lean against the wall with my arms propped up on my knees. “Want to go to dinner with me? As friends, of course.”
I threw in the last little part so I wouldn’t scare her off, and it makes me feel less guilty.
“Only if I can pay as a thank you.”
I turn my head to face her and narrow my eyes. “Absolutely not. I’m asking you, and therefore, I’m paying. I never let a woman pay.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Is this a date?”
I rub the back of my neck, wondering what the hell I’m doing. “I don’t know.”
Am I taking her out as friends, or do I want something more? I’m not sure where my head or heart is, but it’s not in sync with my dick, which very much wants a date with Tilly.
“If we’re going out as friends, I can’t allow you to pay.”
“I’m asking you to dinner. Whatever you want to call it. We barely know anything about each other, but I want to know more about you. I’d like to just kick back, have some food and good company instead of listening to two kids bicker through an entire meal.”
She laughs. “Your kids are great, Angelo.”
“I wish I could take credit for them being amazing little people, but I think that has more to do with their mother than me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re amazing with them.”
I realize that I just referred to Marissa as their mother instead of my wife for the first time since she died. It feels almost dirty.
“Whatever we’re calling it, I’m free tonight,” she says, not giving me any more time to dwell on the guilt that has already started to creep in. “Unless that’s too soon.”
“Tonight would be great,” I say quickly because if I put it off, I’ll probably chicken out. “It’ll be nice.”
“Want me to come back here?”
“I’ll pick you up.” I want to do this thing right.
She stares at me for a moment, biting her lip. “I live in the South Loop. Are you sure it’s not too far?”
“Just be ready at eight. I better get back and get the kids.”
We both climb to our feet, and there’s an awkward moment where we stare at each other.
