Page 31 of Golden Touch
“No, I’ll do it,” I say quickly.
His grin widens.
We both know I can’t wait to spend some of his money on a glorious baby gift. “I’ll find something special. What’s your budget?”
“Keep it under a grand,” he says, and I hear him chuckling as he disappears upstairs.
CHAPTER 13
NASH
The baby gift Livia ordered with my credit card arrives a few days later as we’re getting lunch on the table. At the sound of the truck’s rumble, Livia slips into the corner beside the fridge.
“UPS,” I explain, hating how her cheeks have paled and her smiling eyes have gone stark and wide.
Swear to God, I’m going to punish whoever frightened her like this. She hasn’t shared more about her situation with me. But I see her expression change whenever strangers wander into the brewery’s back lot.
Even now, she’s carefully staying in the corner as I open up for the UPS guy and sign for the package.
As soon as he’s gone, she pretends like nothing’s happened, sliding into her chair and picking up her fork. Today, Livia has made us a chicken pasta salad with pesto dressing and blistered cherry tomatoes.
I never expected her to cook for me, but I’m not going to turn it down. And I’ve done my part by filling the refrigerator with groceries and cleaning up the kitchen to her exacting standards after every meal.
Back in my chair, I take a bite of my delicious lunch, and give her a nudge. “So… I bought the baby a blender?” That’s what the photo on the outside of the box looks like. “It looks kinda cool, but I didn’t know babies drank protein shakes.”
She gives me an arch look that just makes me want to kiss her senseless. “It’s not a blender. It’s a European food processor that also cooks the food. Leila is really interested in eating organic. Six months from now, she’ll be making all her own baby food in that.” She points at the box. “I’m going to wrap it after lunch. You’re welcome.”
I give her a wink. “Thanks, pussycat.”
She rolls her eyes.
This is our way now. We’ve gotten used to each other. Although Livia is careful to maintain the facade of being annoyed with my presence, in spite of all the hungry looks she throws my way when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
The energy between us burns a little brighter every day, even if she needs more time to be sure I’m not a threat. “This is really good,” I say, taking another bite. “I get by in the kitchen, but you take it to a whole other level. When did you learn to cook?”
She gives me a thoughtful glance. “I’ve been cooking my whole life.”
“Yeah? Big family tradition?”
Livia takes another bite, and for a moment, I think she won’t respond. Then she says, “Sometimes when people ask about my family, they’re not really prepared to hear the answer. My life has been complicated.”
As if that’s not a hundred percent obvious. “I’m not scared of you, lady.”
She gives me a challenging glance. “Well, we didn’t exactly have any family traditions. I never really knew my dad. He left before I turned two. And my mom, well… Sometimes I hear people say, ‘She did the best she could.’ And I suppose that’s true of my mom. It’s just that doing her best meant barely scraping by and resenting us for it.”
This breaks my heart, but if I let it show, I know Livia will clam up. “She sounds fun.”
Livia gives me a wry smile. “She was volatile and occasionally scary. She loved telling me that I was her biggest mistake. ‘Can’t get ahead now,’ she’d say, a cigarette dangling from her mouth. ‘Not with you kids in the way all the time. Now move your fat ass. I can’t see the TV.’” Livia rolls her eyes, as if this is funny. “In a cage match between my mom and your dad, I’d put my money on my mother.”
I chuckle uncomfortably. “Do you still talk to her?”
“Hell no. She left the state the minute Brady turned eighteen, and we haven’t heard from her since. Neither of us was surprised. She made herself as scarce as possible as we grew up. When I was ten and Brady was nine, she quit her daytime job to work nights at a boyfriend’s bar.”
“Odd choice for a single mom,” I point out.
“Definitely,” Livia agrees. “We’d come home from school, and she’d show me what there was to eat and then leave for her shift. She told me to make sure that Brady had a bath and did his homework. So that’s what I did.” She shrugs. “And when I got sick of eating canned soup, I taught myself to cook. Pasta with sauce came first, because the instructions were on the labels. Then scrambled eggs and toast, because I saw a soap-opera character prepare breakfast for her lover on TV.”
“So educational.”
