to split up. Or preparing them for his death.
Not the normal way for a kid to live, but they weren’t a regular family. He’d grown accustomed to it eventually … until it almost seemed normal. Until he was faced with a regular person’s life, like Shannon’s treasured photos of her son.
He broke off another inch of a churro. His hand slowed halfway to his mouth as he got that feeling of “being watched.” He checked right fast—
Kolby stood in the open doorway, blanket trailing from his fist.
Uh, okay. So now what? He’d only met the child a few times before last night and none had gone particularly well. Tony had chalked it up to Kolby being shy around strangers or clingy. Judging by the thrust of his little jaw and frown now, there was no mistaking it. The boy didn’t like him.
That needed to change. “Hey, kiddo. Where’s your mom?”
Kolby didn’t budge. “Still sleepin’.”
Breaking the ice, Vernon tugged out a chair. “Wanna have a seat and join us?”
Never taking his eyes off Tony, Kolby padded across the tile patio and scrambled up to sit on his knees. Silently, he simply blinked and stared with wide blue-gray eyes just like Shannon’s, his blond hair spiking every which way.
Vernon wiped his mouth, tossed his linen napkin on the plate and stood. “Thanks for the chow. I need to check on business. No need to see me out.”
As his old friend deserted ship, unease crawled around inside Tony’s gut. His experience with children was nonexistent, even when he’d been a kid himself. He and his brothers had been tutored on the island. They’d been each other’s only playmates.
The island fortress had been staffed with security guards, not the mall cop sort, but more like a small deployed military unit. Cleaning staff, tutors, the chef and groundskeepers were all from San Rinaldo, older supporters of his father who’d lost their families in the coup. They shared a firm bond of loyalty, and a deep-seated need for a safe haven.
Working on the shrimp boat had felt like a vacation, with the wide open spaces and no boundaries. Most of all he enjoyed the people who didn’t wear the imprint of painful loss in their eyes.
But still, there weren’t any three-year-olds on the shrimp boat.
What did kids need? “Are you hungry?”
“Some of that.” Kolby pointed to Tony’s plate of churros. “With peanut bubber.”
Grateful for action instead of awkward silence, he shoved to his feet. “Peanut butter it is then. Follow me.”
Once he figured out where to look. He’d quit cooking for himself about ten years ago and the few years he had, he wasn’t whipping up kiddie cuisine.
About seven minutes later he unearthed a jar from the cavernous pantry and smeared a messy trail down a churro before chunking the spoon in the sink.
Kolby pointed to the lid on the granite countertop. “We don’t waste.”
“Right.” Tony twisted the lid on tight. Thinking of Shannon pinching pennies on peanut butter, for crying out loud, he wanted to buy them a lifetime supply.
As he started to pass the plate to Kolby, a stray thought broadsided him. Hell. Was the kid allergic to peanuts? He hadn’t even thought to ask. Kolby reached. Tony swallowed another curse.
“Let’s wait for your mom.”
“Wait for me why?” Her softly melodic voice drifted over his shoulder from across the kitchen.
He glanced back and his heart kicked against his ribs. They’d slept together over the past month but never actually slept. And never through the night.
Damn, she made jeans look good, the washed pale fabric clinging to her long legs. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back, still damp from a shower. He remembered well the silky glide of it through his fingers … and so not something he should be thinking about with her son watching.
Tony held up the plate of churros. “Can he eat peanut butter?”
“He’s never tried it that way before, but I’m sure he’ll like it.” She slipped the dish from his grip. “Although, I’m not so certain that breakable stoneware is the best choice for a three-year-old.”
“Hey, kiddo, is the plate all right with you?”
“‘S okay.” Kolby inched toward his mother and wrapped an arm around her leg. “Like trains better. And milk.”
“The milk I can handle.” He yanked open the door on the stainless steel refrigerator and reached for the jug. “I’ll make sure you have the best train plates next time.”
“Wait!” Shannon stopped him, digging into an oversized bag on her shoulder and pulling out a cup with a vented lid. “Here’s his sippy cup. It’s not Waterford, but it works better.”
Smoothly, she filled it halfway and scooped up the plate. Kolby held on to his mother all the way back to the patio.
For the first time he wondered why he hadn’t spent more time with the boy. Shannon hadn’t offered and he hadn’t pushed. She sat and pulled Kolby in her lap, plate in front just out of his reach. The whole family breakfast scenario wrapped around him, threatening his focus. He skimmed a finger along his shirt collar— Hell. He stopped short, realizing he wasn’t wearing a tie.
She pinched off a bite and passed it to her son. “I had a lot of time to think last night.”
So she hadn’t slept any better than he had. “What did you think about after I left?”
Her eyes shot up to his, pink flushing her face. “Going to see your father, of course.”
“Of course.” He nodded, smiling.
“Of course,” Kolby echoed.
As the boy licked the peanut butter off the churro, she traced the intricate pattern painted along the edge of the plate, frowning. “I would like to tell Vernon and your lawyer about our plans for the week and then I’ll come with you.”
He’d won. She would be safe, and he would have more time to sway her. Except it really chapped his hide that she trusted him so little she felt the need to log her travel itinerary. “Not meaning to shoot myself in the foot here, but why Vernon instead of my lawyer? Vernon is my friend. I financed his business.”
“You own the restaurant?” Her slim fingers gravitated back to the china. “You are responsible for my paychecks? I thought the Grille belonged to Vernon.”
“You didn’t know?” Probably a good thing or he might well have never talked her into that first date. “Vernon was a friend when I needed one. I’m glad I could return the favor. He’s more than delivered on the investment.”
“He gave you a job when your past must have seemed spotty,” she said intuitively.
“How did you figure that out?”
“He
