Ivan lifted a dark brow.
Brady corrected himself quickly. “Again,please, sir.”
“You can call me Ivan,” the mobster offered.
Shaking myself, I jumped in to end the situation before Brady roped him into spending the next hour looping around and around the fountain.
“It’s lunchtime, bud,” I announced. “You’re going to have to eat fast, because Penny will be ready for us soon.”
“Oh, yeah!” Brady leapt to the ground. “Let’s go eat.”
“Take your bike to the garage,” I instructed as the ball of energy was about to dash inside.
“I’ll help,” Ivan offered.
Brady course corrected and sprinted past Ivan.
Before I could chide him for not wheeling the bike, Ivan lifted it easily and strode after the boy.
I am not ogling. I am not. I am not—
But the way the mobster’s arms flexed as he carried the bike, as if it weighed nothing at all, was not something to look awayfrom. My stomach did a flip. Those shoulders were broad, able to carry the weight of the world. There was a certain appeal to his strength, and it was downright mouthwatering.
“Get a grip,” I scolded myself.
I managed to wrangle my wayward impulses when they returned.
“Ivan wants to come to the movies,” Brady announced, skidding to a halt in front of me.
Coherent thoughts dashed from my brain. I blinked down at my son, then like a string, my gaze was tugged up to meet the dark, focused one towering above me.
“Can he, Mama, please?” Brady clasped his hands.
Mobsters did business. They socialized when there was a goal. Made Men of different circles did nothang outat the cinema.
I was at a complete and utter loss for words. There was no protocol for how to act in this situation.
“It’s a cartoon,” I blurted out.
Ivan gave me a lazy grin. “I love cartoons.”
“It’s a Monday afternoon.” My excuses were lamer and lamer. “Don’t you have work?”
“I’m more of a night owl,” Ivan countered.
I bit my lip to keep from hissing if it was safe, but I caved. “If Alessandro says it’s okay, then I guess I don’t see why not. This was their outing they suggested.”
Brady fisted the air with a shout of triumph, let out another whoop, and took off racing for the house, shouting for Cousin Sandro.
Ivan lingered for a moment. He was an arm’s length away. There was an awareness between us that was almost tangible.
“He’s a cute kid,” Ivan said softly. “His father must be proud.”
I winced. This part was still awkward. “It was a closed adoption. We don’t know who his dad was. But I’m sure he would be, who wouldn’t?”
Something flashed in those bottomless pools of ink. “He’s never met him?”
“No.” There wasn’t judgment at me being a single mom. I’d been expecting it. It was always there. But whatever the look was that Ivan gave me, it wasn’t that. And I didn’t know how to respond.
