Page 70 of A Dish Best Served Hot

Saint grabbed Lola under her arms and lifted her to her feet as she maintained a hold of Rosie.

“Thank you so much for this monster hug,” Lola said. “This is just what I needed to feel better.” She smiled over at Saint. “Although, I will still accept cupcakes and ice cream.”

“Then let’s go get some,” Saint said, leading Lola through the crowd with a hand on the small of her back.

Meanwhile, she carried his daughter in her arms and chatted at her about her favorite flavors of gelato.

Saint wasn’t sure how the day could get any better, but it did. They pigged out on dessert, played some games, rode the carousel, ate more food, and took in more attractions until the sun set. Then they went in search of a good spot to watch the fireworks.

“Rosie, are you tired?”

Saint expected Rosie to climb into his lap and snuggle up to him like she always did when she was sleepy, but she didn’t. She sat on the stair beneath Lola and wiggled her little body around until she was comfortably snuggled against Lola’s thigh. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. Rosie had been attached to her ever since their hug earlier. But what blew his mind completely was when Rosie tipped her head up to the sky and said, “I love fireworks. They’re so pretty. Do you like fireworks, Lola?”

Lola’s breath caught and for a second she didn’t breathe. She stared down at the little face below hers. “I love fireworks too,” she choked out. “Fireworks are my all-time favorite.” She tipped her head up to the sky and swallowed.

Saint watched a tear roll from the corner of Lola’s eye, down the side of her face, and into her hairline as she swallowed repeatedly. He understood completely because emotion clogged his own throat. He didn’t think any words out of Rosie’s mouth would ever surpass the first time she called him Dada, but listening to her sweet little voice direct a question at Lola did. It was in knowing that the words meant so much to Lola that they could cause her, a woman who tended to view any emotion but angry passion as a weakness, to shed a tear of joy.

He reached over and grabbed the hand Lola wasn’t currently using to rub at her heart through her chest. He squeezed and was rewarded with a hard squeeze in return. Knowing that Rosie was enthralled with the fireworks exploding in the sky, he lifted her hand to his mouth and gave it a kiss.

Lola turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were lit brighter than the fireworks raining down on them. The apples of her cheeks were rosy and her smile wider than Lake Michigan. She looked soft, happy. With him and with his daughter she was happy.

The thought made his heart pound because the feeling was wholly reciprocated. She made him happy too. Seeing how much she cared about his daughter made him happy. Seeing how much she cared for everyone in her orbit, how much she cared for the community. Lola was building relationships and creating ties that tethered her to Humboldt Park, to him. That was what he wanted, to be firmly tethered to Lola.

He leaned close enough to whisper in her ear. “Do you remember what happened the last time we were here?”

She nodded. “You told me you loved me on the carousel,” she whispered back.

He stared into her eyes. “And you told me that you loved me too.”

She smiled. “Then we made out until people complained loudly.”

“I think we should do that again. These people seem like they need something to shake them up.”

“The fireworks aren’t enough?”

“There are more fireworks right here. Between you and me.”

“While that’s true, I’m pretty sure Rosie fell asleep against my leg and it’s not in your best interest to make me choose who to snuggle with.”

“It’s like that, huh?”

“Sorry. She’s cuter than you.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

Lola bit her lip. “But.” She stopped.

“But what?”

“Well, I was just thinking that if we took her home and tucked her into bed, then maybe we could hang out on your couch, watch Netflix or something.”

“Hmm. She is a pretty deep sleeper, but sometimes she gets up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.”

Lola’s expression fell.

“I have a TV in my bedroom.”

“Really?”

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