Page 17 of Tempt

“We will.”

We hang up and I go to the refrigerator, pulling both doors open.

“I want French fries,” Andy pleads.

I make them for him, adding some deli meat on the side and cutting up celery sticks for good measure. He eats half of each and I call it a win, putting the rest in the fridge.

That’s when I notice the row of LaCroix neatly lined up down the door shelf.

I turn one.Grapefruit.

Way to go, single dad.

Daniel said Andy is usually in bed at eight thirty.

But when he goes to get his pajamas, a streak of blue paint rubs off his arm and onto the white dresser.

It’s not the only spot. In fact, he’s closer to a rainbow leopard than a little boy.

“Tell you what. Bath first.”

It takes twenty minutes to get the kid clean, especially when he wants to play with bath toys.

After, I get him ready for bed.

“I can’t sleep,” he insists when I tuck him in.

So, I read him a book about cows who get lifted by a tornado and have to find their way home. Then another about a little girl who has a magical pair of ballet slippers that change colors.

“Tell me a story?” he begs after.

I wave to the stack of books next to his bed. “What was all of that?”

“Other people’s stories. I miss made-up stories.”

“Is that what your dad tells you?”

He shakes his head. “Mommy used to.”

Ah, dammit.

I tell him my best story.

* * *

It’s almost nine thirty by the time Andy’s asleep.

Daniel didn’t say which room is mine, but I peek inside the room across the hall, which must be Daniel’s.

Of the two other rooms, one has a bed that’s not made up.

The room next to Daniel’s is large for an old house. Centered in it is a four-poster queen bed with fresh sheets and a sage green duvet.

Closet’s empty.

Drawers too.

That’s when I notice the yellow Post-it note stuck to the mirror.

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