“Not a line,” I say.
I take one more look at Angie. She’s smiling and sipping her coffee.
“I’ll see you tonight after work. Tell your mom not to cook. I’m picking up Mad River for your family.”
“EJ, you don’t have to …” Angie starts to say.
“No. No. You do,” Laura says. Then she turns to Angie. “Go ahead and let him.”
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Angie defends. “It was all a result of the gossip and my mama bear instincts.” She turns to me. “You really don’t have to.”
“I really want to,” I tell her. Then I step over, brush a kiss across her cheek and say, “Have a good day. I’ll see you tonight.”
I’m about halfway across the street when I hear Angie tell Laura. “I could get used to this.”
And I think Laura says, “And you should.”
Chapter 13
EJ
True love is shown more in deeds than words.
~ Saint Ignatius of Loyola
I’m driving to the salon over my lunch break today. The massive basket in my passenger seat taunts me.Doing too much, EJ?That’s what Truck said when I told him my plans.
Note to self: Don’t take relationship advice from single men.
Angie and I talked last night after she had put the boys to bed. When I asked her how they were doing, she laughed under her breath and said, “Bath time was sheer chaos.”
She went on to tell me she had to mop the bathroom floor with three giant towels while the boys ran around buck naked, squealing and laughing and refusing to put their pajamas on.
I didn’t share the strange ache in my chest when I pictured that scene—only it was me mopping up the floor, or scooping up the boys, one under each arm to take them toput their pjs on. I might be jumping the gun. But I’ve known Angie forever. And I’m more than ready to shoulder the load with her, to make nights like that less heavy—to laugh our way through parenthood and hold her in my arms when the house is still and we’re the only two awake.
I’m not rushing this. But we both know where this is heading if I continue to prove I’m the man who can love her and her boys. I know I am. Now I just have to help her believe it beyond any shadow of a doubt.
An idea formed when she was telling me the bath time saga. And that’s why I’m sitting next to a basket that’s big enough that at least one of the twins could comfortably sit in. Where Angie’s concerned, as long as the door is open for me to pursue her, there is no such thing as doing too much.
I park my pickup, walk around to the passenger side, and pull the basket off the seat. The cellophane Champ’s wife helped me wrap it in sticks up near my face. I have to crane my neck to look both ways before crossing the street. When I get to the shop, I set the basket near my feet, push the door open, pick it up and step in.
All heads turn in my direction—and stare. The room grows silent. My eyes find Angie’s. Her mouth pops open.
“EJ?”
“Yeah?”
“What is that?”
“A basket.”
Usually the salon is bustling with noise and chatter. It’s dead silent with the exception of the low hum of the hair dryers at the back of the room.
“A basket?” she asks.
“Yeah. I figured it might help with bath time.”
Shannon’s painting Principal Barnes’ wife’s toenails at the front of the salon.
