Page 58 of Taking A Chance

I pat his leg, calming him. “Actually, no. I fully intend to work when or if I ever have children. I come from a family with two strong, independent working parents, and there’s no reason to sacrifice one for the other.”

I peek over at Declan’s face, his smile earnest and wide. He forks a carrot in as he gives his mother a look that says,take that, Mom!as he swallows.

“I like her,” Eben says, announcing to the whole table. “Keep her.”

Judy smiles genuinely at me. Or at least it feels that way. It doesn’t seem to be one of those fake, for the sake of manners smiles. She doesn’t seem displeased with my answer. It’s like I passed some invisible test.

The dinner moves on more quietly, with someone asking an occasional question. Declan’s parents describe teenage Declan asquiet and reserved, much like he is now, saying only people truly close to him get to know his other side; the carefree, funny Declan.

I consider their words, realizing as the days have gone by, his demeanor around me has become more carefree, and lighter. His smile, while it’s always felt genuine, is more relaxed. I can’t explain it. He just feels more open. Then, it dawns on me.Only people truly close to him see his other side.We’re close. Really close.

I suppose I already knew that in a way. Hell, we’re sleeping together every night. Wow, this is like, serious. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it feels serious. Should we talk about it? Do I go with the flow until one day we’re picking out China patterns and I can’t remember how we got so far?Fuck. China patterns. Calm down, Cora. Calm way the fuck down.

We say goodnight to his parents, departing around nine. It’s later than I expected us to stay, but after dinner, Judy served coffee and dessert, still talking up a storm about all things Declan. You can tell she’s a big fan of her son, proud of his artistic abilities and accomplishments. I like Judy and Eben. They’re good people as far as I can tell. And if how they raised Declan is any indication, they’re good parents, too.

On our way back out, we pass fresh peonies in the hall. I hadn’t noticed them before, likely too preoccupied with being here in general.

“Your mother likes peonies?” I ask him, once we’re back in the car and settled in for the drive home.

“She’s had fresh peonies in the house every week since I was a boy. Since I can remember, really,” he says. “The smell of peonies is home to me.”

I think back to when he told me I smell like peonies.The smell of peonies is home to me.I put two and two together, everything clicking into place.

That’s intense.

33

Declan

Maybe grown mendon’t usually bring the woman they’ve only just begun dating home to meet their parents. Maybe most of them wait a while, really settle into a full-blown relationship. Hell, maybe most grown men don’t even do it for a solid year or more, depending on the circumstances.

But my parents are important to me. Cora is important to me. Time has very little to do with connection. We could end things tomorrow, and I’d still be resolved in the fact that she met my parents today. I’ve only brought home two other women in the past. One during college and the other some years ago. Both felt important to me at the time and in many ways still are. I believe past loves shape the way you love in the future, each one teaching a lesson.

“You’re quiet,” Cora says, as we pull onto our street.

“Just thinking, love,” I say.

“About?” she asks.

I could tell her the truth. I could tell her I’m thinking about how important she feels to me already. I don’t think she’d scare away because of it. “I’m thinking about time.”

“Time?” she asks, clearly not following my train of thought.

“Yeah,” I say. “The way it shapes people. The way there’s too much of it sometimes, and other times there’s not enough.”

“What made you think of that?” she asks.

Putting the car in park, I turn to her. “You did.” When she doesn’t understand, I go on. “The way I feel like the three years we spent hating each other was both lost time but also necessary. Maybe I wouldn’t have appreciated this as much if it had been easy from the beginning.” I lift her hand and press a kiss to the center of her outstretched palm.

“I understand,” she says. “Time is a strange thing.”

We walk inside the building and I step toward the stairs, Cora’s hand in mine, but she pauses. When I look back at her face, she’s staring at the elevator, contemplation in her features.

“Let’s take the elevator,” she says.

I stumble back, bringing her closer to me. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m done not taking chances.”

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