“Croissants,” Kristin says to Daniel, standing shoulder to shoulder in Half Moon Mill’s empty restaurant, gazing out onto the patio. Rain sheets down in end-of-the-world waves.
He takes her hand. “Gelato. Macarons.”
“Toast,” Trevor chimes in, unaware of what they’re talking about, as he spreads jam on his snack. Next to him, Alex is doing the same. When he catches me watching, he licks jam off three of his fingers while holding my gaze, and I have to quickly look away before someone asks why I’m flushed. Outwardly, I’m trying to maintain my composure. Inwardly, I don’t think I’ve stopped freaking out.
Did last night actually happen? Did I make it up? If not, what does that mean? Is Alex the kind of guy who partakes in one-night stands, and if so, am I one? Ishea one-night stand for me?
All I know is that I can’t think about him, or anything remotely related to him, without feeling like my brain has been smushed into a juicer. But also, excessively turned on? I want to sit in a closet and stare at a wall for a few hours until I can get it together, but instead I end up in the corner with ten kids ranging from three to eleven years, most of whom are making ittheir mission to stain either their own nice clothes or someone else’s.
“Romina, you’re a lifesaver,” Kristin calls. “Thank you so much!”
“No problem.” I’m doling out printer paper and crayons. One of the kids gets ahold of glitter markers, which are swiftly removed. “We’re going to draw pictures for Kristin and Daniel to open on their anniversary next year,” I begin to explain when I notice a little boy lurking behind a nearby chair, jacket still zipped up, boots shiny with rain. He’s watching us, gripping a kids’ tablet in a blue safety case, looking unsure.
“Hey, there.” I smile at him. “I’m Romina. We’re drawing pictures for Kristin and Daniel. Would you like to color one?”
He shakes his head.
“Oh, he loves to color,” a woman pipes up. “Miles, don’t you want to color?” To me: “He’s a little shy.”
“Everyone here is super nice, I promise.” I hold up the drawing I’m working on for Miles to see as the woman shifts aside to allow a few other people by. It’s starting to get congested in the restaurant, but there isn’t anywhere else for us all to congregate ahead of the ceremony. “I drew Kristin in a wedding dress that looks like a cupcake. What do you think?”
“I drew poop,” a little girl announces, giggling.
The woman kneels to the boy’s eye level, unzipping his jacket. “Coloring sounds fun,” she whispers, with a rapid tickle over his belly that finesses a smile from him before he leans to the side and subdues it, rubbing the back of his hand over one eye. “You want to draw a picture, too?”
He shakes his head, retaining a white-knuckled grip on the strap of her tank top. Whispers in her ear.
She hugs him tight. “It’s all right, buddy. You’re going tohave so much fun today, and you can eat as much cake as you want! I love you bunches and bunches. Be good for Daddy, all right? I’ll see you in a few days.”
He adheres himself to her leg when she tries to leave. Side-eyes me as if to say,No sudden movements, you!
“I didn’t see you come in,” Alex says, joining us.
“I’ve been—” I begin, then stop.
He isn’t speaking to me. The little boy wraps his arms around Alex’s waist right at the moment I realize who his golden-brown ringlets remind me of, and he says in a quivery voice, “I don’t want to be here with so many people, Daddy. Can wego?”
PART
TWO
Chapter Twenty-Four
LEMON GERANIUM:
There will be an unexpected meeting.
When I was eleven, I jumped a chain-link fence and fumbled the landing, snapping my right wrist. I recollect the moment I launched myself off the metal pole, how it felt like I was thirty feet up in the air—the swoop of my stomach lifting, everything inside of me rising, the peak timeless—right before the drop. I came crashing down so fast that I didn’t realize all of the green blurring around me was my body rolling over grass. Three flips, then confusion. Wondering how I got all the way down there onto my back. Followed by searing pain.
Alex meets my stare and that’s when it all drops. He has to know how stunned I am, but he merely smiles and says casually, “This is my son, Miles. He’s a little shy at first, but chatty once he opens up.” He makes Miles’s arms do the wave. “Aren’tcha? Miles, this is my friend Romina.”
My heart sprains.
Miles’s mom points at me, eyes widening. She’s pretty, with carroty hair, transparent lashes and eyebrows. “You,” she gasps. “Did you used to have brown hair?”
I’ve lost control of my faculties. A stranger inside my body responds: “Yes.”
The woman’s nose scrunches adorably when she smiles. “When I met him, he had a picture of you on his fridge.”
