Page 34 of A Bond with the Dark

Even though I have very real and scary good feelings about Dominic from last night, I’m still leery about sending strangers my address. I’m very protective of my child, and it’s his home I’m guarding. But I have guns and alarms and can hold my own should he try anything shady.

Something inside me tells me it’s all right for Dominic to know where I live.

I send my address and begin my chores for the day.

Around six, I shower and prepare for the date, choosing a lower-cut dress with flowers.

At 6:55 PM, the doorbell rings.

I spritz myself with perfume once more and bound down the stairs.

He’s there with lilies—my favorite flower—when I open the door. His chest hair and tattoos can be seen through the top two undone buttons on his white shirt. He has on black slacks and shiny shoes and looks fantastic. His scent stirs on the breeze; pine needles and rich soil, like walking through a forest at midnight.

“Hey,” I say, a little breathless from the stairs, or maybe it’s him.

“Hello, beautiful. You look amazing. These are for you,” he says, extending the flowers to me.

“Thank you. Lilies are my favorite.”

“I was hoping they were. And this is for your child.” He presents a candy bar on the other hand.

“Awe.” I gasp, taking the chocolate bar from him. “You are so sweet, thank you. He loves chocolate almost as much as I do.”

Dominic grins and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Would you like to come in a minute while I put these flowers in water?”

“Sure,” he says, stepping inside. His eyes dart around, taking in the scenery.

My house is medium-sized in the suburbs with tall ceilings and large windows. The stairs leading up are right by the front door, in the living room, and the kitchen and dining room are at the back of the house. All over the walls are pictures of Gauge and me; not an inch of wall space is wasted. I’ve considered redecorating and taking down old pictures, for many of the frames are from my marriage. The pictures just changed.

“Your home is lovely,” he says, walking me to the kitchen through an arched doorway.

Intermingled throughout the house among the trinkets and pictures are plants. They’re everywhere, it’s a chore to water them all weekly.

“Thank you. It’s not much, but it’s our home.”

“It’s lovely,” he says again, looking at a picture on the wall. “Your son looks like you. What’s his name?”

“His name is Gauge. You think he looks like me?” I ask as I fill a vase with water. “A lot of people say he looks like his dad.”

“I have never met the man, so I wouldn’t know, but he looks like his mama,” he says, inspecting the picture closely, then turning to me. “The eyes. Almond-shaped like yours.”

“Yeah, except his are brown. They were blue when he was a baby but turned brown early on.”

“Brown is a nice color,” he states as Nox comes barreling out his cat door to the basement, stopping in his tracks and hissing at Dom.

“Nox!” I scold, turning the water off.

Nox runs off, the sound of the cat door swinging in the hallway.

“It’s all right,” Dom says casually, leaning on the bar-height kitchen table. “Pets sometimes don’t like new people.”

Setting the vase of flowers on the tabletop, I say, “He’s normally very sweet. So sorry he did that.”

“I’m not worried about it,” he says as I lead him into the living room.

“Okay,” I say, wiggling into my light winter coat and collecting my purse from the banister at the foot of the stairs.

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