Page 11 of London
“Not really. Just an unexpected work-related trip.” He handed her a mug of hot chocolate. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” She sniffed it, looked up at him, then sniffed it again. “Did you put cinnamon in it?”
He nodded. “My mother’s secret ingredient for everything sweet. Don’t you like it?”
“I love cinnamon. It’s my favorite spice.”
“Mine, too.”
They grinned at each other above the steaming mugs before sipping.
“Let’s go into the living room,” Linda suggested.
They sat on the couch, Pirata jumping up between them, whiskers twitching, his head inching toward the chocolate. Knowing the delicacy was bad for cats, Gerard lifted his mug away from Pirata’s exploring nose.
“This is great,” Linda said, sipping her drink once more before turning on the television, leaving the sound down low.
“Thanks, but it’s not rocket science.”
“Hey, I know men who can’t even turn on a microwave, let alone consider adding cinnamon to hot chocolate. Take the credit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, sipping his chocolate. It was too hot a beverage for him on this warm summer night, but he would drink a gallon of the stuff if it meant being able to stay here with Linda a little while longer. “I like your house and this little fellow.” He scratched the cat’s ears once more, hearing new purrs. “Did he come with you from Italy?”
Linda shed her slippers and tucked her feet under her.
“No, he’s purebred English stray.” She recounted the story of her cat rescue, laughing when she described the angry drivers.
Gerard admired her kindness, grateful there was so much substance to the woman he found so attractive.
“I’ve taken him to Italy a couple of times. He spent all of his time there basking in the sun.” Linda chuckled. “I confess I miss sunny weather, too. When it’s too rainy and cold for me, I pack my bags and take a vacation. I love traveling.”
“If you love sunny weather, why did you move here?”
Her expression darkened. Instinctively, Gerard knew it had to be to escape from her husband after her divorce. From what little she’d said, a man like that would never accept parting ways graciously. He would see it as rejection. Most likely the bastard had harassed her until she’d been forced to move to a foreign country for the sake of her own sanity.
Linda wasn’t a pushover. Since she was the smarter one in that train wreck of a marriage, she would’ve realized the man hadn’t been worth any more hassle and had cut and run. This was too personal a subject to discuss so soon after meeting. He was about to change the subject when Linda spoke.
“There are a number of reasons why I decided to move here, but the main one is because I found two art galleries interested in my work. As well, I get more private clients here than I did in Italy. And I’m close to HOPE, so I can become more involved. I’ve been thinking of getting permission to do some fun activities with the children, maybe an arts and crafts workshop… I have lots of ideas,” she said, her mouth curving upward. “The problem is, putting them into action takes time.”
Gerard nodded and grinned. “Oh, how I understand that… I take it you like children?”
“As long as they’re not mine,” she joked. “I mean, I would love to have kids one day, but that day is far, far away. It seems such a huge responsibility, you know? I’m not sure I have it in me to be a good mother.”
Remembering the loving way she’d held David and had communicated with the other children, Gerard nodded slowly. “Trust me, you do. I think you’ll make a wonderful mother.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, before burying her nose in her mug. Her cheeks grew rosy, and not just from the heat of the chocolate. She darted a glance at him, then lowered the mug and placed it on the coffee table.
“What about you? Why do you choose to treat children?” She cocked her head to the side, her face eager for his answer.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted, shrugging. “I guess it’s because I believe children are the best chance the human race has to survive. They’re innocent, fresh, optimistic—the very qualities our world needs, especially now that humanity seems to be in a downward spiral.” He looked down at his hands. “No matter their race, religion, or genetic baggage, all children deserve the chance to live and become happy, healthy, contributing adults.”
Linda’s silence agreed with him. After a few moments, she asked, “Do you have any kids?”
He smiled wistfully. “Not yet. I’m a traditionalist. I want a fine wife first; then we’ll start making babies.”
“And what’s your definition of afinewife?” she sneered.
He leaned back, resting his shoulders against the soft leather cushions. Obviously, he’d struck a nerve.
