Page 8 of The Mafia King's Baby

Her face lights up with interest. “That sounds fascinating. I’ve always wanted to travel internationally, but I’ve never had the opportunity.” She pauses, then adds with a self-deprecating laugh, “The farthest I’ve been is Vancouver, and that was for a college spring break trip, where we mostly stayed in hostels and ate ramen.”

The image of her backpacking through Canada with college friends strikes me as both endearing and completely at odds with the sophisticated international travel my work requires. I want to tell her about Prague’s cobblestone streets at dawn, the way canal light reflects off ancient buildings in St. Petersburg,and hidden restaurants in Moscow, where babushkas serve soup that could heal souls.

Instead, I reach for my coffee. “Vancouver’s beautiful. Did you enjoy it?”

“We got caught in the rain every single day and somehow still had the best time.” Her smile transforms her entire face. “There’s something about traveling with friends when you’re twenty and think you can survive on enthusiasm and instant noodles.”

We eat quietly for a few minutes, rain continuing to drum against the kitchen windows. She refills both our coffee cups without asking, the gesture automatic and welcoming.

“I was wondering,” I say unexpectedly, surprising myself as I set down my mug, “Would it be possible to extend my stay another night? The weather looks problematic for mountain driving, and my schedule has some flexibility.”

She looks up quickly, and I catch something that might be relief crossing her face before she smiles. “Of course. I’ll update your booking in the app. Are you sure one more night will be enough?”

I have to pause for a moment. Being around her creates an unfamiliar sense of calm, like stepping into a quiet library after hours of city noise. Every instinct tells me to maintain distance, to remember that she knows nothing about who I really am or why I’m here, and to move on quickly. “One more night should be sufficient.” I keep my voice neutral despite the way she tilts her head slightly when listening.

“Perfect.” She stands to clear our plates, moving with the easy efficiency of someone comfortable in her own space. “I wasactually planning to take my neighbor’s dog for a hike this morning if the rain lets up. You’re welcome to join us if you don’t have firm plans.”

The invitation startles me. I should decline and cite business calls or emails that need attention. Instead, I watch her rinse dishes at the sink, note the careful way she handles what could be her grandmother’s china cups, and hear myself saying, “That sounds pleasant. I’d enjoy the company.”

When she turns back to face me, her smile could power the entire street.

An hour later, the rain has diminished to a light drizzle. I’m walking beside Celia on a trail that winds through pine forests above her neighborhood. The dog she’s borrowed bounces ahead of us like a wind-up toy, her stubby legs working overtime to match our pace.

“This is Sariah,” Celia says, laughing as the dog stops to investigate an interesting smell. “My neighbor, Mrs. Patterson, is recovering from hip surgery, so I’ve been helping with walks.”

Sariah looks like someone combined a Yorkshire Terrier, a Dachshund, and possibly several other breeds in an experiment that prioritized personality over aesthetics. Her tail never stops wagging, and she approaches every stick, rock, and leaf like it might be the most important discovery in canine history.

“She’s very...” I search for a diplomatic word.

“Ridiculous? Adorable? Completely lacking in dignity?” Celia grins. “Mrs. Patterson says she has the heart of a Great Dane trapped in a body that barely reaches your ankle. She took one look at the dorky little dog and adopted her immediately at a local adoption event when we attended last year.”

“You weren’t interested in a dog?” I ask.

She looks sad for a moment. “I was, but my boyfriend is allergic to dogs.Ex-boyfriend,” she adds with fierce but quiet emphasis.” Then she smiles. “I should have gotten the dog and dumped him at the shelter.”

The idea of her with another man makes me want to puke my guts out. I have no claim to her and no reason to feel so sickened by her being with someone else… But I do.

Somehow, I manage to nod and reply, “The dog would probably have been the better choice.”

She laughs a little. “Once I’m back to work or more financially stable, I plan to adopt one.”

We follow a well-maintained trail that offers glimpses of Lake Tahoe through the trees. The air smells clean and sharp, pine-scented in a way that makes me realize how long it’s been since I breathed air that wasn’t tainted by exhaust fumes or urban pollution.

“How long have you lived here?” I ask as we pause at a scenic overlook.

“Three years.” She adjusts Sariah’s leash as the dog tries to investigate something beyond the trail boundary. “I moved up from Sacramento after college, thinking I’d stay maybe two years and then find something more exciting in San Francisco or Los Angeles.”

“But you stayed?”

“The mountains got under my skin.” She gestures toward the lake visible through the trees. “There’s something about waking up to this view every day that makes other places seem too loudand too crowded, with too many people in too much of a hurry to get somewhere that’s probably not worth the rush.”

I understand exactly what she means. Standing here with clean air filling my lungs and nothing but wind and birdsong for soundtrack, my usual world feels like something from a fever dream.

Sariah discovers what she apparently considers the world’s most perfect stick and presents it to Celia with the pride of someone offering crown jewels. “Oh, this is a good one,” Celia says solemnly, examining the stick with appropriate reverence before throwing it down the trail. “Excellent choice, Sariah.”

The dog bounds after it with enthusiasm that suggests she’s never played this game before in her life, despite the fact that we’ve repeated this exact sequence six times in the past fifteen minutes.

“She’s an eternal optimist,” Celia says. “I think she believes that someday, she’ll find the stick so amazing that I’ll be speechless with admiration and declare her the winner of all stick-finding contests forever.”

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