Page 25 of Matteo

“I’m sorry, that was rude.” I’m ashamed.

“It’s fine. I got it a lot when colleagues found out about my family.” He says it’s fine, except I can tell it isn’t. Feeling guilty all over again, I accept when he changes the subject. “If my mother makes you uncomfortable in any way, let me know. She doesn’t get a free pass because she’s my mother.”

“I guess… I don’t want her to think I’m taking advantage or something with all the things she’s bought for me and Layla. Especially when I no longer feel so guilty about not being able to give her anything for Christmas. Or that she spent her first Christmas in a crappy motel room.”

Matteo shakes his head. “She won’t remember her first Christmas. You did the best thing for her. It wasn’t easy to leave, but you did it to protect her. That is what she’ll remember.”

I get lost in the swirling gold of his eyes. I’m not sure why I can’t catch my breath and why it feels so warm. It must be because the fever hasn’t left completely.

The toaster oven goes off with a high-pitched ding, startling me. I blink and find him using oven mitts to pull out the tray. “The directions said to let it sit for five minutes. Let me get some oatmeal made up for Layla.”

“I can do that?—”

“No, you can’t. I’m forbidding it for tonight.” He smiles down at Layla. “Yeah, you know we’re talking about you. You’re so smart.”

His eyes meet mine. “You’ve done an amazing job with her. The way she already can talk. She recognized the alphabet and got excited when I said it. Then she did her baby talk like she was trying to repeat what I was saying.”

I blush. “I worried I was being too… I don’t want anyone calling her dumb the way they did to me. That’s not fair to her either, though?—”

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re a good mom. She knows she’s loved. It’s rare for a baby who has lived through the environment she did to still be happy and smiling. She’s like that because of you. And please remember, not all babies or children meet every milestone at the same time.”

Tears sting my eyes at him calling me a good mom. All I’ve wanted since the moment they placed her in my arms was to be the best mom I could be. I was going to give her the childhood I longed for. One where she felt safe and loved and never worried about not having food in the refrigerator or if the electricity would be shut off when she woke up—the way I did.

Watching him move around the kitchen making formula and carefully adding oatmeal until it was what he deemed the perfect consistency. I can’t help but be impressed. The words fly out of my mouth without thought. “You’re good at all of this. How many kids do you want?”

He goes still. Soft gold meets mine. “I never gave it much thought. More than two would be nice. Having built-in friends and someone to learn from is something I’m grateful for in growing up with my brothers. What about you? Growing up, what was your dream for the life you wanted?”

I’m not sure why it’s so hot in here. I want to be flippant, to make a joke. Only with those golden eyes so intent on me, I can’t.

I’ve never once spoken it aloud—too afraid it would never come true if I did. Since Matteo has been so honest, it feels wrong not to return it. “I dreamed of four children, two boys and two girls. The boys would be older and take care of their little sisters the way I wished my older brothers would for me. It felt like I lived alone even before my mom got lost in drugs.”

Remembering the silly dream, I blush from embarrassment. “To be an artist, to paint and my work would sell steadily. No huge shows or fanfare, just a few people who loved what I put on canvas. That they found it…worthy of their money.”

“And your husband? What did you dream he would be?” How does a man so large speak so softly without whispering?

“I didn’t see him in my mind. It always felt like it was just me and my children.” I shrug. How did I never see a man? The children had to come from somewhere. A man never even crossed my mind.

He grabs a bib, and the second Layla sees it, she gets excited. Taking the small bowl, spoon, and bib to the highchair he sets them on the tray. “Do you want to feed her, or can I?”

The way he asks, as though he wants to feed her—take care of her. Despite the mess that’s feeding her. It steals the air from my lungs. All I can do is nod as I strap her into the highchair.

While I was getting her bib on, Matteo managed to dish out the chicken fettuccine and place both our plates on the table. He also has a glass of sweet tea and the orange juice he insisted I drink.

Sitting down across from him, I watch as he cajoles Layla into eating the cereal with the promise of some pasta if she finishes her bowl. I’m not sure she understands him, but she eats the cereal begrudgingly. Finally, he gives in and puts a noodle he’s cut into tiny pieces on her spoon. She’s hilarious with how excited she is, opening her mouth so wide I wonder if it hurts.

I laugh when she slurps down the noodle while she kicks her feet and her hands ball into fists.

“Yeah, this is some good noodles. Good job eating all your cereal like a big girl.” Matteo chuckles.

Her mouth opens wide like a baby bird begging for more. He sighs and begins cutting up another noodle for her. “It’s a good thing you’re strapped in because you’re kicking your feet enough to take off into space.”

“I’m glad she likes this because I’ve never made fettuccine before. I’ll probably order more of this. It’s better than what I’ve had in restaurants.”

He nods. “Yeah, this is great. Calling it a grocery store is a bit of an understatement. You can order whatever you want or think is necessary. Your phone is going to be delivered tomorrow. I’ll get all the apps to order from there and everywhere else you might need loaded with my card.”

“I have a phone.”

An eyebrow goes up. “A phone you have to load with minutes. The phone is all yours and is paid for. For the next five years—even if you walked away next week. I pay all my bills in lump sums or auto-pay. Because of the question of whether you would stay, I wanted to ensure you would always have a reliable phone. There is a location tracker on it. You don’t have to turn it on. My hope is you will, not because I’m going to watch your every movement. It’s just so I know you and Layla are safe. It will be the same with your vehicle.”

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