Page 24 of Isolation

“Daddy’s home!” Mason shouted, scampering out of his booster seat before I could even put the car into gear.

“Hold up. You know the rules,” I said, catching his arm.

Mason sighed but complied. He raced to the front door after I released him. I followed behind slowly, still reeling from my conversation with Remi. It was getting hard to face him. Would he know I suspected something?

Inside, Mason had already disappeared by the time I reached the door. I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulder and closed the door behind. The scent hit me first—onions, garlic, something savory and rich. Then the low music of D’Angelo playing in the background and Mateo cooking was practically a red flag. D’Angelo was the music he played when he’d forgotten our anniversary or missed a T-ball game.

I set my purse on the entry table and moved toward the kitchen. Mason was perched on a stool, chattering away to Mateo, who stood at the stove with his back to me. He wore practice shorts and a plain white tee instead of his team gear. His movements were precise as he stirred whatever was in the pot.

“Then I used my fingers like you showed me, and it went into the basket. Swish!” Mason said.

“That’s my boy. You’ll be showing me up pretty soon.” Mateo ruffled Mason’s hair, and he shifted his smile to me.

“There she is. I wondered when you would get home.” His voice was smooth as butter.

“The traffic around the school was heavy. Practice let out early?” I asked.

“Yeah. Coach had a family thing. I thought I’d surprise you guys with dinner. I’m making your favorite pasta.”

I slid onto a stool next to Mason, kissing the top of his head. “Sounds delicious. What’s the occasion?”

Mateo shrugged. “No occasion.”

Mason tugged on my arm. “Mommy, can I change and then show Daddy my spelling test?”

“Sure, baby, five minutes. Then wash your hands for dinner.”

Mason ran off, leaving me and Mateo alone in the kitchen. The silence was deafening.

“Wine? I opened the Cab you’ve been saving,” he said without waiting for my answer.

“Sure.” I watched as he poured carefully, trying not to spill a drop.

He handed me the glass and lifted his in a toast. “To the woman who knows too much.”

I froze with the glass halfway to my mouth. “What is that supposed to mean?”

His smile didn’t waver. “You’ve always been the smart one, babe. You always notice everything. It’s why we work together so well.”

A tense beat passed, but I held my glass up higher. “To secrets. To your secrets.”

Mateo’s smile faltered, but I caught it.

I had to let him know I was preparing for my next move, because I didn’t like his cryptic ass warning or message. Or was I reading into things because of what Remi had told me earlier?

“How was work?” Mateo asked, backing down.

“It was a light day. I had a few things to take care of here.” I set my glass down, watching the muscles in his back flex as he drained the pasta.

“Anything interesting?”

I hesitated. “Not really. Just catching up on life.”

Mateo nodded. “Life has a way of catching up to us, doesn’t it?”

There it was—another double meaning, still I couldn’t quite pin it down. I studied him as he plated the pasta with the same meticulous care he’d shown all evening. His hands were steady, but there was a tightness around his eyes, and when he turned, there was a slight twitch in his cheek that appeared when he was stressed.

“Mateo…” I wasn’t even sure what I was going to ask him, but Mason came bouncing back into the kitchen with his spelling test in his hand.

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