Page 8 of Finding Gwen

“Daddy!” Oliver ran to Mr. Marino, his chubby hands stretched wide to the man who seemed to melt before my eyes. He squatted down and scooped Oliver into his muscular arms.

“Figlio mio, how’s my sweet boy?” Standing up, he pressed a kiss in his son’s hair while Oliver threw his arms around his father’s neck. Mr. Marino held onto him tightly, the veins on his forearms more prominent from the action. If I hadn’t already known they were related, there would be no doubt after seeing the two of them together. Oliver was a miniature copy of his dad, his wild curls and brown eyes an identical match. They both had small dimples that formed when they smiled.

“Play trains, Daddy! Trains!” Oliver pointed to the elaborate track set up covering the floor, and I did my best to keep my composure as Mr. Marino walked into the room, carefully stepping over the tracks in his path.

“This looks amazing, Oliver. Did you have a fun day?” Oliver nodded his head and Mr. Marino sat him down on the floor. Oliver started running along the track, following its twists and turns while giggling. Mr. Marino turned to me, reaching his hand out to me.

“Hello, Gwendalyn. I’m Anthony. I apologize for being late.” The softness of his face while interacting with his son was gone, replaced by the less than inviting scowl that seemed to be his natural state. His lips were pulled into a thin line as he looked down at me. Hesitantly, I accepted his hand, giving it a small shake.

“No apologies needed,” I mumbled. “Um, Katie had to leave. Her daughter was sick. I had just assumed she had let you know.” He pulled out his phone, tapping on it and letting out a sigh.

“Apparently she did.” I heard him mutter curse words under his breath, looking toward his son as Oliver grabbed one of his engines to run along the track.

“It really is okay. Um, do you still want to do the interview? I understand if things are a little hectic right now.” He met my eyes just as Oliver ran up between his dad’s knees, knocking him off balance. Reaching out, Mr. Marino grabbed my arm to keep from stepping on his son. The touch sent electricity through my body, the skin beneath his calloused fingers tingling. My eyes darted to the connection, shocked by the reaction, then up to find his eyes wide.

He quickly released my arm, shaking his hand as if trying to rid it of pain. He took with him an unexpected warmth that had me questioning my own sanity for a minute. After everything that had happened the last week, I shouldn’t be craving the touch of a man, let alone one who looked as if he could snap me in half like a twig.

“Hey, little buddy, you must be hungry. Why don’t we get some dinner started, yeah?” He turned away from me, grabbing hold of Oliver’s hand and leading him out of the room. I stared after them, unsure of what to do.

“Um, Mr. Marino?” I cleared my throat. He looked over his shoulder at me.

“Anthony, please. Mr. Marino was my dad.”

“It was a… pleasure meeting you. Maybe you can reach out to Carol and we can reschedule?”

“Shit, the interview.” He ran his hand over his face, then realized his mistake. Glancing down at Oliver, he put his finger to his lips. “Don’t repeat that, little man.” Turning back to me, I could see the wheels turning inside his head, trying to come up with a solution. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

I was seconds away from politely declining when Oliver let go of his dad’s hand, bounding toward me. Grabbing my hand, he urged me forward, looking up at me with perfected puppy dog eyes. “Ms. Gen stay?” I couldn’t say no. Allowing him to pull me along to the kitchen, I glanced at the clock in the hallway, making a mental note that it was nearly five in the evening now and that I should update Ivy. Though by that point, she and Carol may have been working on a second bottle of wine and not even realized what time it is.

When we reached the kitchen, Oliver let go of my hand, climbing up onto a chair stool at the kitchen island. Anthony rummaged through the freezer, pulling out a bag of chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs. Oliver was sitting on his knees, wiggling in his chair and clapping his hands. I quietly shuffled behind Oliver to make sure he didn’t fall off while Anthony placed the nuggets onto a baking tray and slipped them into the oven. Once he did, he returned to the fridge, pulling out a large orange and a bag of carrots and placing them on a cutting mat he pulled from a drawer in the island.

“So, Gwendalyn, how long have you lived in Chicago?” he asked while making quick work of the fruit and vegetables in front of him. I was mesmerized by the action, the movement of the knife in his hand making me pause before I answered his question.

“Well, actually, I don’t live in Chicago. I live in Pittsburgh. Born and raised in Pennsylvania.”

“So, what are you doing in Chicago?”

“Hopefully accepting a new job,” I answered. He stopped chopping, intently staring at me as if waiting for me to elaborate. I shrugged. Trying to keep my answers vague, I decided to offer him a small version of the truth. “I’m looking to start fresh somewhere new.” Confusion flashed across his face, and I could only imagine how many questions must be going through his mind. Before he had a chance to ask any, a ringing from his pocket interrupted him. Picking it up, he answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Marino.” His face tensed. “Sir, can Kruegler handle this by himself? I’m in the middle of something.” A pause, presumably as he waited for the response on the other end. “Of course, sir.” Hanging up, he shoved his phone back in his pocket, frustration lacing his features.

“Anthony, is there anything I can do?” It had only been a few hours, and I already felt a pull toward this family.

“I hate to ask, but that was my boss. I’m being called in for a case.” He must have noticed the confusion on my face, so he continued. “I’m a detective, Special Victims Unit. We got a call for an interview. I’m not sure how long it will take, but would you be able to stay with Oliver? If Katie’s daughter is sick, I’d hate to ask her, and I don’t have any family nearby. I wouldn’t ask if I had other options. I—”

“Anthony, I can stay.” Interrupting his rambling, I looked down at Oliver. “As long as it’s cool with you, buddy.”

Oliver nodded his head, reaching with his whole body on the island to get the cut up orange in front of him. Anthony chuckled, grabbing the knife before pushing them closer to him. “Only if you’re sure. Let me write down my number in case there is an emergency.” I nodded my head, reassuring him of my decision, as he scribbled down his number.

Once finished, he walked around the counter, planting a kiss on his son’s head before giving him a hug. “Be good, figlio mio. I love you.”

“Love you.” Oliver had a mouthful of orange, and the juice dripped down his chin. Quickly, I reached for a paper towel from the roll sitting in the middle of the island to wipe it as he and Anthony exchanged smiles. After Anthony walked out of the kitchen, I cleaned up Oliver’s chin as the oven timer went off. Before taking out the chicken nuggets, I shot Ivy a quick text about the situation, hoping Carol wouldn’t mind. If Anthony wasn’t home before Oliver went down for bed, I could run out and grab my bag. After setting the tray on the stove, I turned around to face Oliver.

“Well, kiddo, looks like it’s just you and me again. Let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into.” He smiled at me with a cute, toothy grin, and I couldn’t help but return it with one of my own.

Chapter Six

Anthony

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