Page 109 of I Knead You Tonight

“You were at Slice today?”

“Nah. I had it delivered. Figured it was easier than loading up the kiddo and taking him in. Plus, I knew if you saw him there, you’d get distracted and fawn all over him.”

The kiddo.

Notyourkiddo.

He says it like Riker is his too.

It’s odd…but it doesn’t feel wrong.

“Another smart move.”

“What can I say? I’m on a roll today.”

I scarf down my dinner like I haven’t eaten all day, and I realize then I haven’t had anything since breakfast.

“Damn, someone was hungry.”

“I forgot to take a lunch.”

“You forgot? How the hell does that happen?”

I shrug. “I was busy. Your father offered to help me look into local culinary programs and we spent my lunch break doing that.”

“You’re thinking of going to school?”

“I think so. I mean, I kind of have to, right? If I ever want to move on from Slice. As much as I love the pizzeria and get a kick out of whatever craziness your dad cooks up for a new pie, one day I’d like to be able to create my own menu.” I peek over at him. “Do you think I’m crazy for wanting to go to school with everything else I have going on?”

“Crazy? Yeah, a little. I see how stressed you are as it is, but I also think it’s a pretty brilliant idea to set yourself up for a future you really want. I know right now might seem like an insane time to do it, but it might be smart too, since you have the help.”

“The help?”

“Living here.”

“Winston…” I grumble. “We’ve been over this. I can’t stay here forever.”

“We’ve also been over that youcan. You just don’t want to hear that part.” He pushes up from the table, grabbing his empty plate and mine. “But that’s fine. You’ll hear it when you’re ready to.”

“I’ll listen to you when you listen to me about going to the doctor about your shoulder. How’s that for a deal?”

He works his jaw back and forth, annoyed at my bargaining because he doesn’twantto go back to the doctor.

He’s too scared to hear that he and he alone screwed his shoulder up for good.

“That’s what I thought,” I say, grabbing Riker from his chair. “I’m going to give him a bath while you stew.”

“I don’t stew!” he hollers after me, but judging by the muttering, he knows he doesn’t sound the least bit convincing to either of us.

I take my time bathing my son, enjoying my alone time with him.

When he starts to struggle to hold his tired eyes open, I click on the Slayer mobile and tuck him into his crib, grabbing the baby monitor on my way out.

Walking through the living room, I spy Winston out on the back deck, cigarette in hand.

I don’t have to be standing next to him to know he’s thinking about my comment. I can see it in the way his muscles are tightened, the way he’s angrily flicking his ashes into the tray.

He’s staring out at the water, letting the sounds of the waves drown out whatever’s going on in his head.

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