His dark eyes rested on her a moment. “Once, you liked fully loaded, as I recall,” he said. “That night we ate at a pizzeria—”
Laurel paled. She remembered the evening. Remembered every evening she’d spent with Xander. Every blissful evening. That particular night they’d docked at a popular tourist spot, and she’d insisted on treating him to dinner for a change. She couldn’t run to the kind of gourmet restaurants he chose when they ate out, but she could run to pizzas. So they had, eating them outdoors at the little pizzeria catering exclusively for tourists, their table covered with a paper cloth, the wine homegrown and served in earthenware carafes, the pizzas on wooden plates. Hers had definitely been fully loaded—mushrooms, anchovies, olives, extra mozzarella, peppers and chorizo.
“You had red onion and goats’ cheese,” she heard herself say.
“So I did,” he acknowledged.
For a moment, just a fraction of a moment, their eyes held. For a moment, a fraction of a second, Laurel felt weakness wash through her…
A weakness she had felt every time Xander had looked at her like that…
“Mum, can I have ham and pineapple?” Dan’s piping voice brought her back.
“Of course!” she said brightly.
“And dough balls?” he added hopefully.
“If you share them with your dad,” she said.
She said it deliberately—“dad.” Forced herself to.
He’s Dan’s father. On one of those nights—those passion-filled, incredible nights that I can hardly believe now ever happened—Dan was conceived. And he’s here now, with the both of us, and I have to—have to!—accept that even if I don’t want to.
“Order complete.” Xander shut down his tablet, put it aside. “Delivery in twenty minutes. They’re coming over from the market town.” He got to his feet, went over to the huge TV in the corner. “Okay, Dan, let’s see if we can get this going.” He hunkered down, and Dan went over to him.
Laurel went into the kitchen, set the table there. Pizza didn’t warrant the dining room. Outside the dusk was gathering fast. She stared out into it. Heart full.
But with what she did not know. Could not tell.
Only that it was powerful and disturbing.
And that she could not deal with it. But must.
“Dan, bath-time in five, okay?” Laurel’s voice came from the door to the kitchen beside the patio door.
Xander ignored it, but Dan did not.
“But the film isn’t finished,” he protested.
Tea finished, pizzas polished off, he was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, and Xander had sat down beside him to keep him company, leaning back against the sofa, long legs extended while they watched a downloaded kid’s film on the TV. Dan had requested it, and Xander had gone along with it, even though it seemed to be about a lot of fantastical cartoon creatures having improbable adventures that went on and on.
“You can see the rest of it tomorrow,” Laurel said from the doorway. “Besides, you know it inside out!”
“But Dad doesn’t,” said Dan.
“I’m sure he can wait till tomorrow too,” she said dryly.
Xander turned his head to her.
“This is one of Dan’s current favourites,” she told him. “He can watch it endlessly.”
Her expression was limpid. For a second, just a second, Xander almost…almost…smiled at the implication.
Then her attention went back to Dan. “Five minutes,” she reminded him. “I’m going up to run your bath.”
She disappeared.
“Five minutes,” Xander confirmed. Dan had already smothered a yawn. It had been a long day for him.
