suggested that she knew more than she was letting on.
“Neither do I,” he said.
“So don’t talk,” she said. “Just listen.”
He picked up his soda and sipped.
“She doesn’t date—or hardly ever, and she definitely doesn’t sleep around. So if you’re not looking for anything more than a good time, you should look elsewhere.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” he admitted.
“Then you better figure it out. And if you decide you want Allison, be prepared for the obstacles she’ll put in your path every step of the way.”
“Is that supposed to be a challenge or a warning?”
“That depends entirely on you,” Chelsea said.
Nate considered what she’d said as he walked out of the bar. She was right—he could take her words as a warning and decide to forget about the sexy executive assistant, and that was probably the smart thing to do. On the other hand, he was more intrigued by Allison Caldwell than he’d been by any other woman in a very long time—and he never turned away from a challenge.
* * *
“Come on, Dylan. Your breakfast is on the table.”
It was the third time she’d called to him, and finally he wandered out of his bedroom, still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up in various directions. She looked at her sleepy-eyed son and felt the familiar rush of affection.
She hadn’t thought too much about getting married or having a baby before she found herself pregnant at twenty-one, but she’d never believed her son was anything but a gift. He wasn’t always an easy child—there were times when he challenged and frustrated and infuriated her, but she loved him with every ounce of her being.
As he passed her on the way to the table, she gave him a quick hug and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Good morning.”
“Mornin’,” was his sleepy reply. He settled into his usual chair at the table and scowled at the box of cereal on the table. “Can’t I have waffles?”
“Not this morning,” she told him.
His scowl deepened as he poured the Fruity O’s into his bowl, then added milk. “Can I have pizza in my lunch?”
“We don’t have any pizza.” She cut the sandwich she’d made in half diagonally and put it in a snap-lock container.
He responded with something that sounded like, “Idon’wannasan’ich,” but the words were garbled through a mouthful of cereal.
“It’s ham and cheese,” she told him. “Your favorite.”
“M’favrit’spza.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
He swallowed. “My favorite’s pizza.”
“We don’t have any pizza,” she said again, adding grapes and cookies to his lunch box.
“Can we have pizza for dinner?”
“You’re going to be at your dad’s for dinner,” she reminded him.
He shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “I’sThursdy.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Joslynsgot—”
“Chew and swallow, please.”
He did so. “Jocelyn’s got piano and Jillian’s got dance.”
“Lucky for them.”
“Not for me,” he grumbled. “’Cause I get dragged everywhere with them.”
She wasn’t without sympathy. She could only imagine how painful it was for an almost-nine-year-old boy to sit around while his younger sisters were involved in their own activities.
“Take your 3DS,” she suggested, expecting him to jump at the offer.
“We’re not s’posed to have ’lectronics at school,” he told her.
She held back a sigh as she zipped up his lunch box and slid it into the front pocket of his backpack, double-checking to ensure that his rescue inhaler was where it was supposed to be. “Keep it in your locker.”
He shoved more Fruity O’s into his mouth, but he chewed and swallowed before speaking again. “Where’s St. Louis, anyway?”
She opened the atlas she kept on hand to assist with his geography homework and pointed out Missouri. “Right there.”
He studied the map. “It’s a lot farther than Washington.”
She knew he meant Washington, DC, which they’d visited the previous summer. “Yes, it is,” she confirmed.
“Why do you hafta go there?”
“It’s a business trip,” she said, trying not to sound impatient as she glanced—again—at the clock.
“When are you gonna be home?”
“Tonight,” she said. “And I’ll pick you up straight from the airport.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
He pushed back his chair and started to carry his empty bowl and juice cup to the dishwasher. She was trying to teach him to pick up after himself—an uphill battle, to be sure—but she decided that today wasn’t a day for lessons. Not if she wanted to get Dylan to school and herself to the airport on time.
“I’ll do that.” She took the dishes from him. “You go brush your teeth and get dressed.”
Thankfully, he didn’t drag his heels too much while doing so, and they were only three minutes behind schedule when they walked out the door. If the traffic lights cooperated, she might be able to make up that time on the way. But before Dylan climbed into the backseat of her car, she took the time to give him a hug and a kiss, because she knew he wouldn’t accept any outward displays of affection when she dropped him off in front of the school.
He didn’t say too much on the drive, and she knew that his mind was already shifting its focus to the day ahead. She was pleased that he did well in school, and frustrated by the realization that his success hadn’t led to enjoyment. She thought he might like it more—or at least hate it less—if he made some friends, but he didn’t choose to interact with many of the other students, except if the teacher forced them to work in groups, and even then, he didn’t say much as he quietly did the work that was assigned.
She pulled up in front of the school as the bell rang and watched as he walked up the front steps to the main doors. It seemed like only yesterday that he’d refused to let go of her hand on his first day in kindergarten. The years had gone so fast, and so much had
