Prudence, yes…of course it is.
The name suits her. Her coy yet deadly stare. Her simmering, curious interest, in defiance of such a name. It’s perfect. It’sright.
“Morning, Clyde.” She grants him a smile, and I’m instantly jealous of a man who is undoubtedly on death’s doorstep. “Need some help?” she offers sweetly.
Clyde, I take it, shakes his head no. I notice that he’s picked up speed too, unloading the items from his basket haphazardly as Mr. Welch struggles to catch up. Was Clyde stalling for the chance of seeing her? I’d understand that.
“Good morning, Prudence.” I can’t help but use her name, smirking as the faintest hint of annoyance creeps over her features in response, her eyes rolling in my direction.
“Milo,” she replies curtly.
“Oh, you two have met?” Mr. Welch looks between hisdaughter and me. Which begs the question: How did he know about yesterday’s incident with Mrs. Welch if Prudence didn’t tell him?
“Yes, yesterday, but, actually…Sorry, Mr. Welch, I don’t think I got your name earlier.”
“Tom,” he replies, typing in the price of a can of tuna. “And, while I’ll proudly answer to it, I’m not a Welch. That’s my wife’s family name. I’m a Novikov.”
Ohfuck yeah,I’m in.
One thing I can always count on? Parents, with the exception of my own, willloveme. I’ve rarely, and never purposefully, gotten to the meet-the-parents stage of dating—but whenever it’s accidentally occurred, I cannot help but lay on the charm. Just as I want my past lovers to be in bed wonderingWhatever happened to Miloin ten years’ time, I want their parents to be meeting their new in-law someday, weighing them against their first impression of me.
“?? ?????! ?? ???????? ??-???????”Seriously?Do you speak Russian?
“?? ???????!”Well, of course!He returns, smiling brightly as a laugh escapes him. “Are your parents from around here? What’s your last name, son?”
I sure as hell hope not.“Kablukov, sir.” I cannot help but wonder, letting my eyes skirt toward his daughter, if she speaks Russian too.Fuck,that would be fun.
“Well, that’s not ringing any bells, but you’ve just made my day in about ten different ways this morning.” He finishes checking Clyde out, who pays, then exits with a pep in his step. Prudence’s eyes leave him once he reaches the door, and lowering her hand from a wave, her not-so-friendly gaze finds me once again. I don’t cower this time, though.
“So…Can we call yesterday forgiven?” I ask, not breaking eye contact with Tom’s daughter as I speak.
“Of course,” Tom answers. “No harm done.” But it’s nothisanswer I’m waiting for.
Prudence sighs, moving her head to the side as she does so. A beat passes as her neck tilts back and forth, as if a scale in her mind is weighing the pros and cons. Eventually, she nods—my fate decided—and I thank her with a smile.
“Great, thank you,” I say.
“Dad?” Prudence says, clearing her throat as she looks at the mop in her grip. “The bucket?”
“Ah, yes.” He looks at me with an apologetic, playful wince. “One moment.”
“Take your time,” I tell them both as he disappears around the corner. “I’m in no hurry,” I say slowly, smirking as Prudence looks back over at me. A blush creeps up her neck, headed steadily toward the apples of her cheeks.
I open my mouth to tease her but hesitate when I realize that my face feels a bit warm too. I check in the shining metal backing of the till on the counter and,sure enough,the faintest hint of red has found its way onto my cheeks too. Now how thefuckdid that get there?
“Here ya go, kid.” Tom comes back, bucket in hand. “How’s Mom doing today?”
“Good. Tired. She’s resting,” she says, gesturing to the old-school baby monitor secured to her belt loop. “I’m hoping this bad boy will get a signal from out back.”
“Out back?” The two curious words slip out without much thought.
“We’re trying to fix up my wife’s studio, it’s in the A-frame at the back of the property,” Tom answers.
“All right, well—” Prue moves to exit, but I interrupt.
“Mrs. Welch’s studio?” I let out a long, exaggerated breath. “I betthat’sa sight to see.”
“Oh, is it ever,” Tom says. “Though it’s not exactly what it once was. Prue’s trying to clear it out so Julia can use it to paint again. But making sense of what’s good to keep or has to go is proving difficult. We’re—”
