Page 29 of Under the Radar

She smiled and patted my cheek. “You good boy. I like you. I am glad you buy a house. You need roots.”

I chuckled. “Yes, Mama Rosa.”

“I like new girl.” She turned, lowering her voice. “But she make you sad, Chase?”

“Um, no, she’s great.”

She shook her head. “No, I see your heart is sad when you look at her. How much you like her?”

“Just as a friend. It’s the same way she sees me.”

She pursed her lips. “Be patient. Sometimes we have to be patient. It is hard, but worth it.”

I didn’t have the strength to try to explain it to her. “Sure, Rosa. I can do that.”

She patted my cheek again. “Good boy. You deserve to be happy. Like my Stefano.”

I had to look away.

I doubted that was in the cards for me.

* * *

Later, back at the house, Hannah turned to me with a smile.

“I can’t believe how much we got done today,” she said, looking around the living room. “We’ll move the furniture against the walls in a couple of days,” she explained. “But it’s usable, and you can watch TV.”

“Awesome.” I forced a smile to my face.

“Chase, are you sure you’re all right?” she asked. “You look as if something upset you.”

“No,” I lied. “I’m good. Just a long day and I’m tired. But you’re right. We accomplished a lot, and thanks to Rosa and all the food you bought, we don’t have to worry about groceries or cooking for a while. Lots of leftovers.”

“That’s true.” She looked at her phone, following me into the kitchen. “Mom got home.”

“That’s good.” I grabbed a soda, offering one to her. She took it and nodded. “I always worry about her driving.”

I sat at the table. “Isn’t that her job? To worry about you, I mean?” I asked, curious. They had an interesting dynamic. More friends than mother/daughter.

She pushed the hair away from her face as she sat down. She opened her drink and took a swallow. “Oh, she does worry. Believe me. Having me young and my dad dying, it was always just us. I think she sort of grew up with me. I mean, she was—is—a great mom, but we’ve always been close since it was only the two of us.”

“She never remarried?”

“No. Between raising me, running her salon, she was busy. I remember her going on a few dates, but no one special.”

“She owns a salon?”

“She did. The building was sold, so she closed it. Now she works at another place. She says she likes working for someone, not being the boss all the time with all the worry.”

“How old were you when your dad died?”

“Seven.” She swallowed. “He was a great dad. I remember his hugs and snuggles. His booming laugh. The way he would dance with my mom in the kitchen. I got his eyes and her freckles.”

“They’re beautiful,” I said before I could stop myself.

She blushed. “Thanks.” She looked over my shoulder. “He was a cop. He was on a regular traffic stop, and the driver was carrying drugs. He panicked and shot my dad.”

“Shit. How awful.” I frowned. “How did your mom feel when you decided to become one?”