As I walk over to her, I try not to puff out my chest when I see her checking me out the same way I was just checking her out. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“I just got here.” She smiles.
Her breath hitches when I wrap my hand around her upper arm and touch my lips to her soft cheek, getting a hint of the soft floral scent she’s wearing.
“Good.” I lean back, then wrap my fingers around her elbow so I can lead her into the showroom. “How have you been? How’s work?”
“I’ve been good. Work’s work. There is always some kind of excitement happening, but then again, with the cases Abby takes on, it’s not surprising.”
I drop my eyes down to hers, liking a fuck of a lot that even when she’s in heels I have to look down at her. “Abby’s your boss?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind of lawyer is she?”
“She’s a divorce attorney, hence the constant excitement.”
“I bet,” I mutter.
Luckily, I didn’t have to fight Eva for anything in our divorce, but I have no doubt that if she hadn’t had another man waiting in the wings, things would have been ugly and drawn out.
“How have you been? How’s your daughter?” she asks, the second part of her question coming out soft.
“Been good, and Madeline is good. One of her classmates is having a sleepover birthday party Saturday, and she’s never been to one before so she’s looking forward to it.”
“That does sound like fun.”
“Fun for her and her friends, yeah. I’m guessing that it’s not going to be much fun for her friend’s parents, since they are going to have ten six-year-old girls in their house causing chaos.”
I smile as she starts to laugh.
I lead her toward the hardwood floors and pull out the sample that I’ve chosen for her house. “This is prettier in person than the image you saw on the computer.”
She runs her fingers over the rough wood. “I love that it’s not dark. My last house had dark wood, and you could see every speck of dust. I won’t have to worry about constantly cleaning so people don’t think I’m a slob when they see dog hair.”
“You have dogs?”
“Not yet. I want at least one, possibly more,” she tells me as she hands me back the piece of flooring.
“What kind of dog are you getting?”
“I don’t know.” Her brows draw together, and all I can think about is how cute she is. “Do you like dogs?”
“I grew up with them. My mom had a yorkie that used to yap all the time.” I smile. “Once my brothers and I were old enough to take care of a dog, we got a hound mix named Sherlock.”
“I’ve never had a dog before,” she tells me as we walk toward the appliance section of the warehouse. “I don’t even know if they are a lot of work.”
“Dogs are easy; cats are easier,” I tell her.
She tips her head to the side. “Maybe I should get a cat, then,” she says, looking thoughtful. I throw my head back and laugh loudly, then stop when she touches my arm softly.
“You have a great laugh.”
“Thanks.” I clear my throat and wonder what the hell is going on in my head. The smallest touch from her sends my mind racing with a million dirty thoughts. “So this is your fridge.” I point out the top-of-the-line refrigerator; it includes a display screen.
“This is cool.” She touches the screen, then examines the price tag taped to the front. “I’m not sure that I need it, though.” She turns to face me. “Do you have anything else in mind that doesn’t cost so much?”
I’m honestly a little taken aback by her question. Most of my clients want the best of the best, regardless of cost. I know from her overall budget that she can afford this fridge—hell, she could probably afford one that’s cast in gold. Her being conscientious of what she’s spending makes me even more curious about her.
“There’s a lot to choose from. We can look around. If you see something you like, I’ll just take down the information and change it out.”
“Perfect,” she agrees.
The rest of our time at the warehouse goes pretty much the same: I show her the things I picked out; she picks out items that cost a little less. Before I’m ready, our time is up and we are leaving.
“Do you have a ride?” I ask once we’re outside.
“I was just going to call a cab,” she tells me, pulling out her cell phone. Wanting to spend even a few more minutes with her, I cover her phone and hand with mine.
“We can ride back together, maybe get lunch once we reach the city?” I suggest.
She studies me for what feels like forever, and a million emotions seem to play behind her gaze.
“Yeah, okay. Lunch sounds good,” she finally agrees. “Let me just call my boss to let her know.”
Five minutes later, we are both getting into the back seat of a cab. My cell rings just as we are heading over the George Washington Bridge. It’s Madeline’s school.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Fremont? This is Jane, the nurse at Ark Elementary School.”
“Is Maddi okay?” I ask before she can say more.
“She threw up in class. I just took her temperature, and it’s a hundred and two. She’s resting, but she should really be at home. Someone needs to pick her up.”
“Shit. I’m on my way. I should be there in”—I look around to see where we are—“about twenty minutes, tops.”
“Take your time. She’s lying down now,” she tells me, but that does nothing to ease the worry in the pit of my stomach.
“Tell her I’m on my way,” I say, ending the call.
“Is everything okay?” Courtney asks, worry etched into the skin around her eyes.
“Madeline got sick in class and has a temperature. Sorry, but I’m going to have to drop you off and then go to her.”
“Don’t worry about me.” She shakes her head, then asks, “Where is her school?”
After I tell her, she leans forward and directs the driver to go there. Then she looks at me once more. “I’ll just get on the train once we get there.”
“Thank you.” I let out a long breath.
“No problem. I really hope she’s okay. Was she sick this morning?”
“No, she seemed fine.” Guilt hits me hard as I wonder if I missed something.
“I’m sure she will be all right.” Her hand covers and squeezes mine, which is resting on my thigh. “I think I heard on the news that there is a stomach bug going around. She probably just caught it.”
“Yeah,” I agree, not liking that my baby isn’t feeling good and I’m so far away.
When we reach the school, I check in and then head to the nurse’s office. I don’t even bat an eye when Courtney comes in with me. As soon as I walk through the door, I see Madeline asleep on a small cot tucked against the wall. A blanket is pulled up to her shoulders.
“Mr. Fremont?” I nod as the nurse walks toward me. “I took her temp about five minutes ago, and it’s down to a hundred and one, but you will probably want to give her some Tylenol once you get her home.”
“I’ll do that.” I thank her before going to my baby and getting down on my haunches. I run my fingers over the top of her head, and she turns toward my touch before her eyes blink open.
“Daddy . . . ,” she says, sounding tired. Her eyes slide closed.
“I’m here, baby.” I carefully scoop her up in my arms. “Let’s get you home.”
“I don’t feel good.”
“I know you don’t.” I kiss her head and turn with her in my arms. I watch the nurse give Courtney Madeline’s pink-and-purple polka dot backpack and a white piece of paper.
“Feel better, Madeline,” Nurse Jane says as Madeline tucks her face against my chest.
Holding her, I walk out and stop on the sidewalk. Without a word Courtney puts out a hand for a cab; when it stops, she opens the door for me.
“Thank you.”