Page 22 of Hot Momosa

Dahlia

Walkinginto Leo’s condo took almost as much courage as jumping out of a window with my child in my arms, maybe more. I’d been running for mine and Gunner’s lives before, but I’d agreed to stay with Leo of my own free will.

What was I thinking?

Standing in his living room, surrounded by his things, his scent, his larger-than-life presence, I could hardly breathe, let alone focus. Everywhere I looked reminded me of our time together. The couch, the rug in front of the fireplace, the kitchen counter…we’d made love on all of them. Even the crooked painting in the foyer brought back memories. The damned thing hadn’t hung straight since we’d knocked it off the wall in our haste to get each other naked.

This is a bad idea.

Three small apricot-colored poodles ran into the room and circled me. That he still had the dogs surprised me. Last I’d heard, he was babysitting them while their owner found a new place to live—eighteen months before.

I bent to greet them, but stopped short when Leo emerged from the hall wearing low-slung pajama pants, a white T-shirt, and a frown.

“Fifi, Cupcake, Eugene, come.” He patted his thigh and the dogs ran to his side. “I managed to get Gunnar to sleep in the guest room. All it took was his favorite book and the shiny blanket.”

“Shiny blanket? Book?” What the heck is he talking about?

Leo dipped his chin. “Like I said, I’ve spent a lot of time with him over the past year.”

“He’s slept here?” I struggled to keep the shock out of my voice.

“You were traveling a lot…”

The situation left me equal parts irritated and relieved. It’d hurt when Leo stopped calling me, but the idea that he’d abandoned Gunnar had devastated me.

“Given everything that’s happened, it’s good that he’s used to being here. He’s a creature of habit.” I couldn’t make eye-contact, but at the same time, I couldn’t stop staring. I’d spent the previous year learning to live my life without him. I’d moved on, or so I thought. If I’d truly gotten over Leo, my chest wouldn’t ache at the sight of him.

“Like his father.” He wiggled his brows.

I needed to navigate the conversation to neutral territory. “I’m surprised you still have the dogs.”

“Me too, but the little rodents grew on me.” He held up one finger and the poodles sat and waited for him to give them a treat. “Between you and me, I hope Artie forgot where he left them.”

“Will they be okay around Gunnar now that he’s not a baby anymore? Toddlers can be grabby, and poodles can be nippy.”

Leo pressed his hand to his chest as if I’d offended him. “I’ll have you know these little darlings adore Gunnar.”

“Right. Because you and your itty-bity dogs have been spending time with him.”

Rather than trying to defend his actions, or his man-card, Leo motioned to the couch. “Have a seat. I’ll get you some ice for your ankle, something for your pain, and wine for your nerves. Then we need to talk.”

Too tired and sore to protest, I hobbled to the sofa and sank into the plush cushions. I’d always loved the cream-colored sectional. It made me think of clouds or marshmallows. That is if clouds or marshmallows smelled like Leo Marchionni—citrus, fresh cut lumber, and homemade sin.

“Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?” He handed me a bottle of ibuprofen and two glasses, one filled with water and the other wine. “There are a few in town that still owe my family favors. I can arrange a house call.”

“I’ll make an appointment tomorrow if the swelling isn’t down.” I swallowed the pills as he walked back into the kitchen.

“What happened tonight?” Leo filled a large baggie with ice and wrapped it with a dishcloth.

“It’s a long story.” I rested my head against the cushions and closed my eyes. I needed sleep, not more conversation that would likely end in an argument. “Christina caught two reporters looking in the kitchen windows. She called the police, but left before they arrived.”

“Left?” He sat on the short side of the sectional half-facing me, and the dogs curled up beside him.

“She quit.” I didn’t bother to tell him she’d had a conversation with my father’s right-hand man. That little detail wasn’t pertinent, and it’d only piss him off.

“I can’t believe she quit without a word. I’m the one who hired her, remember?”

I didn’t quite remember it that way. He’d given me her name and references, but I’d made the decision…or had I? “Did you know her before she started working for me?”

---