Page 2 of The Wish List
She immediately began to comfort him, making soft sounds meant to soothe.
I sat back down, feeling guilty for witnessing the tender moment between them.
She stood, wiping at her cheeks. She turned to me, her beautiful green eyes watery. “Thank you.”
I smiled. “Not every day I hear my name being called. Happy to have helped.” I looked at her son. “Listen to your momma.”
He grinned, his happy mood restored, and nodded. “I will. I’m a good boy.”
Something about his grin was infectious, and I returned it. “I’m sure you are.”
“Sit here while you wait for your husband,” I offered, standing. The woman looked frazzled and exhausted.
“Oh no, we’re good. No, ah, no husband to wait for,” she rambled. “We’re going to head home now.”
She began to hand Asher his coat when she stumbled. Without thought, I was beside her in a second, wrapping my arm around her waist and supporting her.
“Are you all right?”
She blinked up at me, her face pale, her eyes unfocused for a moment. Then she shook her head. “Oh, I’m fine.” She looked embarrassed. “It’s hot in here.”
“You’re probably hungry, Momma. You didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”
A feeling passed over me as I looked down at her. A small unfurling in my chest. I held her close, liking how she felt against me. It was as if she belonged there for some odd reason. Concern hit me as her son’s words sank in.
“No breakfast?” I asked. “You came into this store, this crowd, with no breakfast to sustain you?”
She shook her head, staring at me.
I tightened my arm. “Well, that won’t do. Let’s go.”
“Go where?” she asked.
“Breakfast.” I looked at her son. “You like pancakes, Asher?”
“Yes.”
“Good man.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, we were seated in one of the cafés in the expansive department store. I liked this one, and it was surprisingly empty, considering how busy the store was. I ordered coffee, eggs, toast, pancakes, and bacon, and chocolate milk for my little namesake. Then I turned to the pretty redhead who was still reeling in shock from her scare and my high-handedness. She regarded me cautiously.
“You know my name is Asher,” I teased. “But I don’t know yours.”
“Rosie,” she replied. “Rosie Duncan.”
“Pretty name.”
She lifted a lock of hair. “I came out with a full head of red hair. My dad thought it was appropriate.”
“I like it.”
“Your name is Asher?” her son asked. “Mine too! Did you know that, Momma?”
“Yes,” she replied patiently.
He smiled. “Momma calls me AJ most of the time. So we won’t get mixed up.” He leaned forward, dropping his voice. “If she calls you by your whole name, look out. She is mad.”
