Flour dusts the counter and the floor. Broken eggshells lie on a plate. A jar of chocolate chips stands open on the side. In a nearby corner, a tall man watches them with a scowl and enormous arms crossed over his chest. From the white hat on his head, he must be the chef or maybe the sous-chef.
Around them, staff are scurrying around, cooking breakfast and scrubbing dishes.
Dante turns around with the pan in his hand and slides a perfectly fluffy pancake onto a mountain of them already stacked in a plate. “I think this should do it.”
Noah takes the spoon from the bowl, dripping batter over the counter as he tilts the bowl for Dante to see inside. “There’s still this much left.”
Dante winks. “It’ll be a shame to waste it.”
“Can I try?” Noah asks with a sparkle in his eyes. “Please?”
“Sure.”
Dante sets the pan on the stove and lifts Noah to the floor. He pulls a small stepladder closer and gives Noah a hand to help him up. “Don’t touch the pan. It’s hot. Only the handle.”
Noah nods with a serious expression. “Okay.”
“Here.” Dante takes a spoon and ladles batter into the pan. “Like this.”
He hands Noah the spoon. Noah spills a bit of the batter, but Dante’s praise is encouraging.
“That’s it. Keep it steady. You’re doing it like a pro.”
“Wow.” Noah peers into the pan. “That’s going to be big pancake.”
Ulysses speaks, pulling me from my frozen state. “Will that be all, Miss Teszner?”
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t budge until I walk over to Dante and Noah. When Dante indicates that he’s noticed me with a nod in Ulysses’s direction, the latter leaves and lets the door swing shut behind him.
“Hey.” My voice sounds small. I’m not sure I’ll be welcome. This was obviously a moment meant for Dante and Noah, but Dante’s gaze has already homed in on me, following my progress across the floor. I keep my tone upbeat, not wanting Noah to sense that something is wrong. “What are you guys doing?”
As soon as I’ve asked the stupid question, I want to bite off my tongue. Anyone can see what they’re up to.
Noah’s little face glows. “Look, Mommy.” He points at the pan. “Dante and I are making breakfast.”
I force a smile, suppressing the untimely feelings that suddenly make me emotional at the sight of the endearing scene. “That looks delicious.”
“We haven’t tried them yet.” Noah turns around on the stepladder, almost tripping in his excitement, but Dante is ready and quick to steady him. “We first have to finish cooking all the batter.”
Dante holds him fast, testing Noah’s balance before letting him go. “Easy now.” Keeping one eye on Noah, he still manages to peruse me with the attention of a hawk stalking a mouse. “We were going to surprise you with breakfast in bed, but you’re welcome to join us here.”
Noah pokes Dante on the arm. “My pancake is going to burn. I think we should turn it over.”
Dante takes a spatula from a spoon rest and hands it to Noah. Wrapping his big hand around Noah’s small one, he shows him how to flip the pancake.
Seeing them together like this breaks my heart. There are so many things wrong with this scene, but it’s only wrong for me.
For Noah, it’s right. He needs this. He’s only known Dante for a few days, and he’s already doting on him. My son has blossomed under his father’s attention like never before. With me, he always had to move from one crappy room to the next and, when we were running low on money, eat oatmeal for breakfast.
I watch them as they finish cooking the batter, drinking in their interaction with bittersweet sadness jabbing like needles into my skin. Noah has a bit of flour on his cheek, and Dante has a smear on the leg of his dark pants. Resisting the urge to wipe the flour from Noah’s face, I keep my hands at my sides, letting Noah and Dante have this time even though it kills me inside.
I want this for Noah. Dante is good for him. I’ll just have to swallow the feelings tearing me apart and ignore the old pain that refuses to heal. Even fucking Dante in the most degrading way possible didn’t help. Far from it. Instead of erasing the beautiful moments we shared, the dirty and carnal pleasure he wrenches from me now only serves as a contrast that reminds me even more of the past.
Dante switches off the gas and puts the pan on the back burner before lifting Noah from the stepladder onto the stool.
He pulls out a stool for me next to Noah. “Have a seat.”
