Page 79 of The Perfect Mistake

She nods in agreement. “Yes.”

He chuckles and flips another pancake onto the plate. “All right, sounds like a plan. The park it is.”

I watch as he continues to cook, his movements practiced and efficient. It’s clear that he’s done this before. That he enjoys it.

He insists I join them for breakfast, and when Sam tugs on my hand to make me come along to the park, I do that, too. Alec and I pack food for all of us in silence, broken only by kids’ excited chatter.

“Sure this is okay?” he asks me quietly. “If you have other plans…”

“I don’t, not until tonight. I’m meeting Connie for a drink.”

His eyebrows rise, but he just nods. “All right. Good.”

The mention of his sister amplifies the silence between us. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am. What would she think if she knew?

The air outside is chilly. Fall has painted Central Park in a beautiful kaleidoscope of bright colors, and fallen leaves are crisp under our feet. Sam holds Alec’s hand while Willa skips ahead. She’s so different from the little girl I met when I first started, especially with her father or her friends around. Since she’s forgotten or abandoned her task of testing me. I hope we’re past that stage now, but every time I think we are, she reminds me that her walls haven’t entirely dropped.

I steal a glance at Alec as we walk. His brown hair has dried naturally, and a lock has fallen over his forehead. He looks serious, focused on the kids, but when he glances back at me, all I can see is the secret that’s taut between us.

My stomach feels tight with anticipation.

Did he read it? What did he think? I didn’t put the worst of the worst in there, but some of the scenes were graphic. Detailed. The language wouldn’t shock a romance reader, but he isn’t one. Maybe he’s disgusted. Outraged.

Turned off.

Sam picks a spot we should stop at for our picnic and sits down before Alec and I can get the blanket unfolded. He lies among the leaves and starts making a “snow” angel, and it stops us all in our tracks.

“Your imagination is something else,” I tell him with a smile. “Want to help us with the blanket?”

“Yes.” He sits up, with a leaf sticking to his hair. “Where did you live before you came to live with us?”

That keeps the smile on my face. He’s the king of non sequiturs, in the way small kids so often are. “I lived a few blocks away, at the Greystone Building. The same place your Aunt Connie used to live in.”

“Oh.” He lies back down and ignores us setting up the picnic entirely, unlike Willa, who helps unpack the water bottles and the coffee thermos. “Ben lives across the river.”

“He does?” I ask. I don’t have a clue who that is. “Which river?”

Sam’s quiet for a long moment. “The watery one.”

That makes me chuckle. Alec huffs too, an amused sound, and sits down next to me on the blanket. “It’s a friend from his kindergarten class who moved to Brooklyn. That’s the East River, buddy.”

Sam repeats the word slowly, still lying on the dying grass instead of the blanket. My parents would have made a fuss over that when we were kids. Somehow I love that Alec doesn’t care. He cares about plenty of things, like piano lessons and proper etiquette, but the kids’ stained clothing isn’t one of them.

Here, in the brisk air of Central Park, in dark jeans and a navy jacket, he looks different. Much more approachable, and handsome in a way that’s unfamiliar to me. It’s mostly been suits and tuxes, or just dress shirts and slacks. Now, he’s “off-duty” and is simply a dad, and the hottest one in the park by miles.

He leans back on the blanket, propping himself on his elbows next to me, and watches Willa and Sam play soccer. I observe his profile, and the five o’clock shadow that darkens his jaw.

“This was a good idea,” I say.

He nods, still looking straight ahead. “Yeah. I’m just sorry it took you getting upset for me to have it.”

“That’s okay. You guys see Central Park every day from the living room windows. I imagine it’s hard to notice what’s so close sometimes.”

That makes his lips curl, but it doesn’t look like a happy smile. “Yeah. Hard to see, indeed. Isabel… I didn’t read what you left for me last night.”

“Oh.”

He turns and looks at me, and I recognize the conflict in his hazel eyes. He’s, somehow, again the man I’ve met through Connie and saw over the years, determined and in control, but he’s also the man I’ve grown to care for. The man who struggles with needing something he thinks he shouldn’t.

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