“That’s even more impressive,” I say, then add, holding his stare when he turns to look at me, “I’m sorry about your dad. I’ve never lost one of my parents, but I’m sure that isn’t something easy to go through.”
“It’s not, but I have a lot of good memories with him. He was an amazing man and father. I appreciate everything he taught me while he was alive.”
“Did he and your mom ever work things out?” I ask, then wish I hadn’t. I blurt, “Sorry, stupid question.”
“No, they didn’t, at least not together. He got married when I was nineteen.” He smiles fondly, and my heart does a weird double beat. “Nina gave him the family he was always searching for. She had two girls before she met Dad, and he loved them like his own. I consider both of them my sisters, and I love Nina. She’s nothing like my mother, but she was absolutely perfect for my dad in every way. While he was alive, they gave each other happiness and contentment, and together they built a beautiful life.” I watch as he pulls in a breath, and I feel my own throat get tight. “That’s another lesson I learned from my father.”
“What lesson was that?” I question, my voice tight with emotion.
“Nothing is more important than your family. Nothing is more important than the people you love, the people who will be there in good times and bad.”
Tears fill my eyes, and I try to fight them back, but I’m not skilled enough to hide them from him. When he notices, he’s suddenly not standing in front of the stove but right there in my space, pushing my thighs apart and settling himself between my legs. I cover my face, attempting to hide, but he drags my hands away and forces me to look at him. God, he’s so beautiful, and the fact that he’s been through what he has only makes me like him and respect him so much more.
“I’m sorry.” I swipe the tears off my cheeks, and his expression softens.
“Sorry about crying?”
“Yeah.”
“Sweetheart, it’s sweet that you’re crying over my sob story. Still, I don’t like your tears.”
“Give me a second, and I’ll stop,” I tell him, and he starts to laugh. “Why are you laughing?” I cry, with more tears rolling down my cheeks.
“You’re adorable.” He leans in, touching his lips to mine.
I’m caught off guard by the soft kiss and every emotion rushing through me. My mind spins, and I pray this isn’t too good to be real.
Suggestion 4
DON’T LISTEN TO YOUR MAMA
CHRISSIE
I lean back against the arm of my couch and take a sip of wine while Gaston sits a cushion away drinking a beer and chuckling.
“In the end, it worked out,” I say, and he shakes his head. “Honestly, it was a life lesson. I’m sure one day my own children will sign me up for some project and forget to mention it until the very last second.” I’ve just told him about the time Aubrey and Rachelle volunteered me to make five hundred cookies for a bake sale to help the high school basketball team travel to an away game in another state. I had no problems with them offering my cookies, but they forgot to mention it to me until the day before the bake sale, which meant I was baking from dusk till dawn without help, since the girls couldn’t stay with me all night and had school the next day.
His expression softens at the mention of children, and my fingers tighten around my wineglass. “Let’s hope it’s not five hundred cookies that you have to bake in one night.”
“I hope I never have to do that again, but the silver lining is that my cookies were a hit, and I’ve had a lot more business since then.”
“There’s always a silver lining.” His eyes brighten, and his lips tip up with humor.
My stomach is stuffed full of the delicious seafood risotto he cooked for us and flips at the sight while my brain replays the way his lips felt when he kissed me earlier. A kiss that ended quickly and since then has felt, at least to me, like an elephant in the room. Not that it’s made things uncomfortable or awkward. Our conversation has flowed easily, and we’ve both laughed a lot tonight.
My mom’s designated ringtone begins to play from inside my purse. I sit forward to grab it. “Sorry, it’s my mom,” I tell him as I search for my phone.
“Do you want me to give you some privacy?”
I focus on him with my cell now in my hand and shake my head. “No, she just likes to check in on me at night sometimes because I live alone.”
“Good mom.”
“Yeah,” I agree, then slide my finger across the screen and place it against my ear. “Hey, Mom.”
“He’s taking her to Hawaii!” She’s so loud that even Gaston can hear her, judging by his surprised expression.
“Who’s taking who to Hawaii?” I ask, confused.
“Who do you think?” she yells once again, and an uncomfortable knot starts to tighten within my chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Your father . . . he’s . . . he’s taking her to Hawaii.”
“Mom,” I whisper tightly, pulling my eyes from Gaston’s questioning gaze. “Calm down.”
“How can I calm down? Do you know how many times I asked, begged, and pleaded for him to go away with me? Do you know how many times I told him that I wanted to go to Hawaii specifically,” she sobs, barely able to continue, “and told him how good it would be for the two of us to get away?”
Pain slashes through me. I love my father, but I can’t deny I’m angry with him. Not only for what he did to my mom but to our whole family. I’m old enough to understand that no relationship is ever perfect, but just like my mom, I didn’t see my father’s betrayal coming. He never let on that he wasn’t happy; it was like he one day just decided to turn out the lights and then expected us to be able to navigate through the dark without him.
“Mom, please don’t cry,” I beg, feeling uncomfortable talking about this with Gaston so close. I get off the couch to put some space between him and me.
“I know I should be okay by now,” she whispers, her voice filled with pain. “But every time I think I’m making progress, something else happens and I . . . I remember what I thought we had.”
“Mommy,” I whisper back, resting my forehead against the sliding door.
“I hate that I still love him.” Oh God. Tears fill my eyes, and I attempt to blink them away while looking out at the ocean through my hazy reflection in the glass. “I wish I could hate him. I wish he didn’t pretend for years like everything was okay, like we were okay, when we weren’t. I wish I knew what was happening so I could’ve prepared for it.”
“You can’t turn love off and on, but with time things will get easier and the pain will lessen,” I say, even though I’m not sure if what I’m saying is true. It’s been a year, and my mom is still stuck in the same place emotionally. She’s still heartbroken and feeling betrayed.
“Promise me you won’t ever trust a man the way I did. Promise me, honey, because I never want to imagine you ever going through something like this.”
“Mom—”
“Please, promise me,” she pleads, her voice cracking.