Page 47
“That sounds intriguing, topolina.” With a smile that lingered, Caitlin bent to kiss her nose. “I’m sure Ivey will want to hear about them.”
She straightened, her gaze skating over his face, like looking dead on at him hurt. He got it — the pain he glimpsed in her eyes every so often made him ache.
He scuffed a hand over his nape. “Need me to do anything?”
“No.” She curved her hand around the back of Eva’s head, their daughter pressed into her side. “I think we’re good.”
“I’ll take care of supper.” It wasn’t his night, but she looked tired, at barely three-thirty.
Amusement glinted in her gaze. “Pizza craving?”
“Something like that.” That little hit of amusement warmed him, lifting spirits that had been low for a while. They did an okay job of being normal with the kids, but by the time they made it to bed, the emotional exhaustion won out. He caught her chin between his thumb and index finger, rubbing a light caress over her skin. “I’ll see you, Falconetti.”
She bustled the girls away, and he drove home by himself, grateful for the silence in his truck after hours of little-girl noise. When he let himself in, Zeb loped from the laundry room, stretching and yawning.
“You’re a pitiful excuse for a dog.” He hunkered down to run his hands along Zeb’s glossy sides and flanks, rubbing hard, so Zeb’s tail spun in wild ecstasy. He rubbed his thumb up a graying snout. “You’re getting to be an old man, buddy.”
The idea of that sent a shiver over him.
“Listen, Zebco, I need you to be one of those extremely long-lived canines.” He scratched behind one silky ear, earning himself a canine whine of sheer pleasure.
After snapping on Zeb’s leash and taking him on his daily neighborhood tour, Tick turned him loose in the backyard and settled on the lounge group there to catch up on his email and daily recap reports, his attention seriously wandering. An arm stretched along the back of the sofa, he watched Zeb nose through the shrubbery along the back fence and bounced his phone on his thigh.
He was wiped out after spending the day pretending everything was okay. Eva and her group had been a welcome distraction, and he’d enjoyed being with his daughter for sure. At the same time, he sank into the backyard quiet and the relief of not having to keep a patient smile on his face.
Maybe what they needed was a weekend by themselves. He slumped deeper into the cushions. He’d promised her one, before, a weekend blocked out that had never happened.
Lifting his device, he launched the calendar app . . . and paused. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel like he was angling to get her into bed. The thing was, he didn’t know what she wanted or needed. They’d talked through the grief, but the physically intimate part of their relationship remained walled off.
They needed to talk about this for real. He didn’t want to misstep, and without that conversation he would.
Instead of blocking the weekend, he placed their regular pizza order, then spent some time throwing a ball for Zeb to chase like a puppy. By the time Caitlin’s car sounded from the drive, Zeb collapsed into an exhausted heap, snoozing on the sun-warmed flagstone.
“You might as well get up.” Tick nudged his flank with one toe, but the dog barely flicked an ear. “You know these girls will want your attention.”
“Pizza’s here.” Caitlin stepped onto the patio, heels discarded. “I met Drew in the drive. You may have overordered, though.”
He registered the quiet and lifted a brow. Eva always made a beeline for him or Zeb, whoever she found first. “Is it just the two of us?”
“It is.” She lifted her face as he stepped in to kiss her. “Eva wanted to sleep over with Bea, and Eleanor’s spending the night with Laura Helen.”
“They can eat leftovers for lunch tomorrow.” He looped his arms about her waist, holding her against him in a light embrace. Eyes closed, he hooked his chin atop her head. This was good, and a night alone with her was perfect. He flexed his arms, squeezing her close for a second. “Why don’t you change while I find us a bottle of wine and we can eat out here?”
She pinched his side, tilting her chin up to nudge the underside of his jaw, and he would have sworn she sniffed him. “You are definitely a keeper, Calvert.”
Dropping a kiss on her temple, he released her. “Go change your clothes. I’m hungry.”
He watched her go, appreciating the small moments where she felt almost normal. Maybe she’d relax with him, eat something.
In the kitchen, he pulled a bottle of Lambrusco and carried it, the pizza and a pair of glasses out to the patio. She emerged minutes later, work clothes swapped for what he dubbed her at-home uniform — leggings, camisole, a sweatshirt tossed over one arm in case the air cooled.
“We’re eating out of the box?” She settled on the couch and reached for a napkin while he opened the wine.
“We are.” He laid the corkscrew and cork aside. “The name of the game tonight is casual.”
Murmuring something sounding like so lame, she accepted her glass and lifted a slice of mushroom, pepperoni and olive from the box. He joined her, piling a couple of slices on his own napkin.
Favorite pizza from his second-favorite pizza joint in hand, he relaxed into the cushions. This was great, a chance to slow down and enjoy her presence, the sense of almost-normalcy. The interlude felt like them, before, countless other nights when they’d shared a meal like this.
