Something about having a doctor’s appointment next week,” Angie said.
“Right. Thanks.”
“Guess what we’re having for dinner, Daddy?” Eva asked.
“Could it possibly be pizza?”
“Yes! With the lot. I mean everything.”
“She’s not kidding on that one.” Angie cast a significant glance toward the pizza Eva was working on.
It was piled high with salami, cheese, tomato and mushrooms to the point where it looked more like a pie than a pizza.
“Check that out. Sure you don’t want to throw a chair or table on top of that thing, too?” he asked Eva, dropping a hand onto the back of her neck and squeezing lightly.
She tilted her head backward so she could look at him upside-down. “Which pizza do you think is the best?”
Michael pretended to consider the options. “I like the simplicity of this cheese-and-tomato one, which I’m guessing is for Charlie. And Angie’s is nice and colorful…”
Eva gave him a look, clearly knowing when she was being strung along. “Just admit it. Mine is the best,” she said with the unashamed egotism of a six-year-old.
“It does look pretty special.”
“Let’s put it on the top shelf so all the many, many layers will get a chance to cook through.” Angie slid the pizza onto a baking tray and turned toward the oven.
He followed her movements idly, not really paying attention, but when she bent to put the pizza in the oven his gaze slid down her slim spine to her backside, perfectly showcased in black Lycra.
He quickly looked away, but not before he’d noticed that Angie had a very nice ass.
He cleared his throat. “I might go change while those cook.”
“Sure,” Angie said.
He could feel heat in his face as he headed for the bedroom and he hoped like hell that she hadn’t noticed. He kicked his work shoes off with more force than was strictly necessary once he was in his room. He had no business noticing her ass. She was Billie’s best friend. Better yet, she was his friend. The shape and size of her ass was utterly irrelevant. Certainly it was of no interest to him.
No interest whatsoever.
Even if it was a very fine, very firm-looking ass.
Giving himself a firm mental shake, he concentrated on pulling on his jeans.
* * *
ANGIE CHECKED ON THE pizzas, then poured herself a glass of wine. She was glad she’d given in to the impulse to surprise Michael with dinner. Even though she hadn’t seen him much recently, she’d been very aware that this first week at work might be hard for him. He’d been on her mind a lot, and she’d wanted to let him know he wasn’t alone. Dinner wasn’t much, but it was something.
She glanced up when Michael returned wearing a pair of old jeans and a stretched-out T-shirt. He’d put on a bit of weight and it suited him. Made him look more like his old self.
She poured him a glass of wine. “So, how’s your first week as a born-again architect been?”
“Not too bad. If I can find a child-care solution that doesn’t involve me shamelessly exploiting Mrs. Linton, I think it’s doable.”
“Still no luck with finding a nanny?”
“Nope. I’ve got more interviews lined up on Friday, though.”
“Well, if you need someone to help relieve Mrs. Linton in the meantime, let me know. I could easily pick up Eva after school a few days if I plan my schedule right.”
Michael was already shaking his head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you do enough for us already.”
“No one’s keeping a score card, Michael. Besides, I love spending time with the kids.”
He shook his head again and she knew from his stubborn expression that there was no point pursuing the subject.
“Fine. Then tell me about work.”
“How about we talk about why you haven’t responded to my email about those rentals?”
Angie busied herself wiping the counter again. She’d been hoping he wouldn’t bring up the matter of her finding a new studio. For a number of reasons.
“Didn’t I? Sorry. I’ve been so busy, getting things on track…” When she risked a glance at him, his gaze was knowing.
“Did you follow up on any of those leads?”
“I checked a couple of them out on the internet.”
“And?”
She shuffled her feet, feeling for all the world like a kid who’d been called to the principal’s office. “One of them was too big. The other one was too far from the city.”
“Did you speak to any of the agents, tell them what you’re looking for?”
“I’m on it. Relax.”
“I’m going to take that as a ‘no.’”
She took a big gulp of wine, not liking the disapproving way he was eyeing her. It was a little disconcerting to realize how much his good opinion meant to her.
“Good studios are hard to find. I need the right size, the right price…” She could hear how lame she sounded. She put her wineglass down. “The thing is, I’ve been at the Stradbroke for eight years.” She spread her hands to indicate how entrenched she felt, how much inertia she had to overcome before she could pack up her workspace and rebuild it again somewhere else. “It’s my second home.”
“I get that, but that place is a disaster waiting to happen, Angie. God knows what you’re breathing in every day. As for those bathrooms… And don’t even get me started on the lack of security.”
“Yeah. I know. I need to move.” The knowledge had been crystalizing inside her as she’d scrambled to restore her workspace, stripping paint off her tools and replacing locks and furniture.
“Can I at least keep looking for you?”
“You’ve got enough on your plate.”
“Not so much that I can’t look out for a friend.” His gaze was warm with affection. Something equally warm unfolded in her chest.
“Let me talk to those agents first,” she said. “I’ll let you know if I need to call in the cavalry.”
He picked up his glass and tilted it toward her. “Deal.”
Her mouth twisted
