"Mr. Bunny wants extra cheese."
"Mr. Bunny is lactose intolerant."
She giggles. "No, he's not."
"How do you know? Has he been tested?"
More giggles.
This is enough, I tell myself. She's happy. She's healthy. That's what matters.
"Mommy, you're not eating."
I blink. Lily's watching me with her big eyes, fork halfway to her mouth.
"Sorry, baby." I twirl pasta onto my fork.
We eat in silence for a moment. The pasta's mushy, the sauce too sweet, but Lily doesn't complain. She never does. That scares me more than it should.
The phone buzzes. I don't recognize the number.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
I swipe to answer. "Hello?"
"Miss Thomas." A male voice.
The hairs on my arms stand up.
"Who is this?"
"Nico Sartori."
My fork clatters against my plate. Lily looks up, startled.
"Mommy?"
"It's okay, baby. Eat your pasta." I push back from the table, walking toward the kitchen.
Nico?
The man from last night?
"How did you get this number?"
"My mother wants to thank you." He doesn't answer my question. Of course he doesn't. "For what you did last night."
I lean against the counter, pressing my free hand flat against the cool surface to ground myself. "She's welcome. Tell her I hope she's feeling better?—"
"Tomorrow at seven," he cuts me off. "A car will pick you and your daughter up for dinner at our home."
I blink.
What?
"I'm sorry, I don't—that's not necessary. Really. I appreciate the gesture, but I can't. I'm working tomorrow night."
"No." His voice is flat. Final. "You're not. You were fired this morning."
