Page 3 of Perfect Pairing
“Three bedrooms?” Leon asked suspiciously.
“I’m hoping my dad will want to come with us,” I said. “I haven’t asked yet, but…”
“But he’s your father,” Lena said softly. “I’m sure he’ll jump at the chance.”
I smiled at her, hoping she was right. When everything with Shannon had gone down, Dad moved in to help with Hansen, and the transition had been seamless. After all, he’d been a single dad most of my life. He knew how it was. We had a nanny for when one or both of us had to work, but typically, at least one ofus was always home with Hansen. My dad loved that little boy, and Hansen adored his Papa.
“How soon do you think you can get packed up and moved?” Leon asked.
“Well…I know it was presumptuous of me, but I’ve already put my two weeks in at work. My last day is Friday.”
Leon chuckled and softly shook his head. “Bold.”
I shrugged, knowing I had nothing to lose. Whether or not the Delatous had given me a job, I still planned on leaving New York. “I was hoping you’d take pity on a man down on his luck.”
Lena reached across the table and settled her warm palm over my hand. “I’m sorry, you know,” she said quietly.
Swallowing hard around the lump in my throat, I could do nothing but nod and offer her a grim smile.
Leon barreled ahead. “If you’re done here in a week, can we get you started at the winery the last week of June? If that’s not too soon.”
“That’s perfect,” I said quickly. “We’ll need some time to get settled, and if you have any ideas on childcare, I’d be happy to hear them.”
“We can help with that too,” Lena said. “In fact, I’d happily take him during the week until you and your father get settled and figure something else out.”
Already, I was opening my mouth to protest. “Absolutely not. You’re already doing too much for me. I can’t take advantage of you that way.”
“I’m a parent too, remember?” Lena said. “We had a lot of help with the girls while they were growing up and we were busy at the winery. Trust me, I don’t mind doing this for you.”
“But—”
“You’d be wise to be quiet and accept her help, son,” Leon said. “She’s not going to take no for an answer.”
I snapped my mouth shut, heeding Leon’s warning. The whole thing was…overwhelming. Having a matronly figure in my corner, and having people who weren’t related to me genuinely care what happened to me and my son? It had been me and my dad against the world for so long, and then I’d gotten married, and my priorities had shifted to encompass my wife and Hansen.
And now, Shannon was no longer in the picture, but the Delatous stepping up to take some of the edge off that loss was enough to make me cry.
But I’d cried and raged and despaired enough over the last six months.
It was time to move on.
When I pushed through the door of our condo on the Upper West Side a few hours later, I found my dad and Hansen in the kitchen. Hansen was bellied up to the island in his highchair, a half-eaten stack of French toast in front of him. His face, hands, and bare chest were covered in syrup. My dad was at the stove, spatula in hand, also shirtless, a towel tossed over his shoulder.
Dad raised a brow at me in question, and I couldn’t help but grin in response. Still, I didn’t speak as I crossed the room to my son and dropped a kiss atop Hansen’s messy curls. The poor kid had gotten my genes, his head a deep brown mop perpetually indire need of a cut.
“Well?” my dad prompted.
“Hey, Hansen?” I asked my little boy, ignoring my dad.
“Yeah, Daddy?”
“How would you feel about moving?”
Around a mouthful of bread, Hansen asked in that little boy voice of his, “Where?”
“I was thinking Michigan.”
“What’s that?” He never took his attention away from where he swiped his plastic fork through the remnants of syrup on his highchair tray.
