She climbs down from her chair and carefully slides her placemat and bowl of macaroni and cheese to the chair on my right.
“How was school today?” I think back to our initial family dinners with Larissa. My mother would never ask about her day and my father could never be bothered to ask about anyone’s day. We were supposed to sit still, eat our dinners, and look adorable doing so.
“Good.” She chews. “Ms. Carraro let us have an extra recess today. She said we were super good and we deserved it.”
I glance at the chair to my left, where she’d be sitting if she were here, and I can’t shake the sensation that we’re missing a vital piece in this little operation.
“What’d you do today?” Honor asks.
It’s a question I’m not used to having to answer, so I take a moment and try to recall the past several hours.
“Let’s see.” I slice into my filet mignon. “I read a book. Took a walk outside …”
“You didn’t go to work?”
“I’m off of work for a few weeks.”
Honor scans me, nose wrinkled. “Why? Are you sick or somethin’?”
“Just taking it easy for a while.”
“What’s that mean?” she asks.
“Taking it easy? It means slowing down, doing less, enjoying the little things.”
“Oh. Okay.” She chews her pasta, staring at the unlit candle centerpiece on the table. “Is Ms. Carraro coming over tonight?”
I shake my head. “Unfortunately not.”
She pouts. But only for a moment.
She’s a happy child. Thank God. I’ve yet to experience tears or tantrums, though I know they’re par for the course and it’s only a matter of time. But so far, so good.
“You’ll see her tomorrow morning,” I add. “And she’ll be bringing you home after school.”
“Yay!” Honor bounces in her seat before stabbing another forkful of mac and cheese. There’s simplicity and wholesomeness in being around her, and I get the impression those are exactly the kinds of things I’d been missing all my life. “I lovvvve Ms. Carraro so much!”
I sniff a laugh before sipping my bourbon. “Me too, kid. Me too.”
Forty-Five
Astaire
* * *
“Ms. Carraro, guess what?” Honor says from the back of my car Tuesday afternoon. It seemed redundant to send Eulalia to take her home today since I was planning to come over anyway. “Guess what, guess what?”
“What, what, what?” I match her excitement with my own, grinning back at her in the rearview mirror.
“Uncle Bennett loves you!”
I come to a hard stop at the red light ahead. I’ve worked with kids long enough to know that you never know what’s going to come out of their mouths.
But I’ve also worked with them long enough to know that most of the time, they’re parroting something they’ve heard someone say.
“Did you hear what I said, Ms. Carraro? Uncle Bennett loves you,” she says.
“Yes, sweetheart. I heard you.” I grip the wheel at ten and two, heart racing. “Wh … when did he say that?”
Everything’s happening so fast.
“Last night. At dinner.” The zip of her backpack follows, then the rustle of paper as she keeps herself busy.
“What did he say? Exactly?” I pull into the parking garage of his building.
“I don’t know … I said I love Ms. Carraro and he said me too.” She states it as fact. “Do you love him?”
The only other man I’ve ever loved was Trevor, and it took each of us a year to muster up the courage to say that word.
Love isn’t a word I toss around lightly.
It isn’t something I tend to try to rush either.
“Do you love him, Ms. Carraro?” she asks again.
They say the truest definition of love is wanting the happiness for others more than you want it for yourself.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I can’t go more than a handful of minutes without my mind wandering to Bennett, wondering what he’s doing, replaying a sexy shared moment, daydreaming about his touch, counting down the hours until I see him again …
Would I be able to walk away now and not miss him? Not feel a thing? Never look back?
No. Not even close.
I park the car and help Honor out, locking up as we head to the elevator.
“Yes, Honor.” I press the call button. “I love him too.”
“Uncle Bennett, we’re home!” Honor drops her bookbag by the foyer rug, kicks off her shoes, and dashes into the next room, her footsteps pattering around as she searches for Bennett.
I slide his spare key into my bag. It was last weekend when he surprised me with it. The thing was shiny, pristine, clearly never used before.
My head spins when I think about how fast everything’s moving, but as long as I’m enjoying the ride, maybe it doesn’t matter?
Sometimes when you know, you know.
“Uncle Bennett, where are you?” Honor trots across the foyer, going the other direction.
“In the study,” he calls from the hall.
I follow her to his leather, cedar, book-scented room and lean against the doorway, watching as she runs to his arms.
“Did you have a nice day at school, Honor?” He’s so proper with her, speaking to her like a miniature adult and not in some cutesy baby voice I hear a lot of parents use.
“The best,” she says. “And Uncle Bennett, guess what?”
“What?” he asks, eyes lit.
She turns to me, pointing, giggling. “Ms. Carraro loves you!”
His amused expression falls. Heat singes my cheeks as his gaze searches mine.
There’s always a chance children misinterpret what they hear or put things into their own words. I should have given her a vague answer, told her I would discuss it with her uncle in private, but I was caught off guard, distracted by this supposed revelation.
Bennett rises from his desk. “Is that so, Honor? She told you she loved me?”
“Honor, why don’t you go wash up and play for a bit before dinner?” I tell her.
She skips out of the room. A moment later, her bedroom door opens and closes.
“She told me you said it first,” I say. “But kids take things out of context sometimes, so …”
“I said it.” He moves toward me. “And she didn’t take it out of context. Though I’d hoped you’d get to hear it from me first …”
“You’ll learn quickly that kids repeat everything …” I chuckle.
He closes the space between us, takes my face in his strong hands, and lowers his mouth to mine, bridging the painfully long forty-eight hours since the last one.
I inhale his intoxicating scent, revel in the way it mixes with the scent of paper and leather and polished wood, and I melt against him.
“I love you, Astaire.” His lips graze mine when he comes up for air.
“I love you, too.”
He wraps me in his arms, and I press my cheek against his chest. Trevor’s heart—Bennett’s heart—strums in perfect rhythm.