In front of me, Emma puts an outfit on her American Girl Doll. I found them used on Market Place and she loves them.
“I am,” she gushes. “I mean he’s nothing like John. He’s kind of quiet, a little shy, cute but not excessively handsome. But he’s just so…nice.”
“Erika,” I sigh, so happy that she’s taken this step. “That’s wonderful.”
“I’m glad you think so. I was worried that you…”
I shake my head. “You deserve to be happy. What that looks like will be different for you than it will for me. And there are good guys out there, we just picked bad ones the first time around.”
“You think you’ll date?”
I frown. I can’t even imagine it right now, except…I remember how I felt in Rush’s office. When he stopped barking orders and asked about my past with his hand at my back. It woke something inside me that I thought was dead, but maybe it was just sleeping.
It’s safe to be alone, but it’s…lonely. “I don’t know.”
She sets down her phone so that I’m looking at her bedroom ceiling while she changes. “Maybe that floral one I got at the thrift shop?” she asks me from her closet. I already know the dress is adorable on her, I don’t need to see it.
“Perfect,” I call back. But that’s when my phone beeps that I have another call, Rush’s name flashing on the screen. “It’s Mr. Smith. I’ve got to go. Good luck tonight!”
I hang up and click over to the other line. “Hello?”
“I need the financial projections for the next five years,” he says with no introduction, his voice back to a bark.
“Printed or emailed?”
“Emailed will be fine. Actually, send them to the office printer as well.”
“Not a problem,” I answer. The line clicks dead.
Part of me is glad we’re back to the same old grumpy boss/accommodating assistant. It’s easier in so many ways. I’m getting used to that man. I know what to expect.
But I think of Erika going off on her date and a little jealousy niggles down my spine. I push it aside and fire up my laptop at the kitchen table.
The apartment is open concept, with one room for the kitchen, dining, and living area. It’s a great layout to have with a three-year-old.
Emma continues to play with her dolls, while I send off the file to Rush’s email and then to the printer.
Leaning back in my chair, I see Emma lay down on the couch and rub her eyes.
She must be exhausted after her first week at a new school. Standing, I pick her up and snuggle her close.
She’s already in her pajamas, bath done. Taking her into the bathroom, we brush our teeth and sing our little good night songs.
Sometimes when she’s overtired she’ll fight me. But not tonight. I slide her into her bed, her eyes already closing, as I pull the covers up over her body. “Sleep tight, my sweetheart,” I whisper against her cheek, giving it several kisses.
She’s already drifting off by the time I turn out the light and close her door.
Crossing to the living room, I pick up her dolls, placing them in their wicker bin and then stuff the bin in the television console.
Making my way out to the kitchen, I wash up our pans and load the dishwasher, glad for the quiet.
Drying off my hands, I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. No matter how difficult this week was, Emma is safe in her bed.
For that, I am so thankful.
That’s when a knock sounds at my door.
I jump, the sound so unexpected. Does Erika need last-minute advice? Crossing to the door, I peer out the peephole and nearly gasp.
