I catch it, hold onto it, it’s right then that my mother glances up, and her face lights with my arrival. “Allie,” she smiles. “Who’s your friend?” Her brow furrows. “Wait. You, sir, look familiar.”
“This is Dash, Mom. Dash Black.”
My stepfather enters the room through the other side of the kitchen. Barry is a big man, over six feet tall, fit, and good-looking. He’s also ten years younger than my mom, which was a problem for me at first, but he won me over with his charm, manners, and adoration for my mother. “Holy hell,” Barry exclaims. “You’re Dash Black.”
“She just said that, honey,” my mother chimes in.
“The Dash Black,” he replies, turning his attention back to Dash. “You write the Ghost Assassin books. Holy hell,” he says again.
Dash laughs. “Yes. Holy hell.”
I laugh now, too. “Dash this is my stepfather, Barry, and—” I motion to my mother, “my mom.”
“Cassie,” my mom says. “Call me Cassie. Dash Black, in our kitchen. I don’t even know what to say right now.”
“Nice to meet you both,” Dash says, nodding at my mother, and when Barry moves forward and extends his hand, he and Dash shake on the greeting.
“How the hell are you here?” Barry asks, his hands settling on his hips.
“I convinced Allie I had to have some of those waffles,” Dash replies, always the charmer, and now is no different. “I’ve been hearing about them from Allie.”
I round the island and hug my mother and she whispers, “Oh my God. He’s so good-looking.”
I laugh and whisper back, “Yes. Yes, he is.”
Mom and I break apart and Dash rubs his hands together. “What can I do to help?”
“Tell me what happens next,” Barry says. “That’s what you can do.”
From there, there is laughter, food, and conversation. Eventually, we’re all sitting around the island, chowing down on waffles, and drinking coffee. It’s a bit surreal. At present, Dash is talking to Barry and my mother, answering questions that flow left and right, and I just watch him. He’s good with them. Actually, he seems to get along with everyone. No, seems is not accurate. He does get along with everyone oh so well, except Tyler. But I’ve seen a darker side to the man, a tormented part of Dash Black, the part he hides behind easy conversation and what I think might be practiced humor. There’s a part of him that doesn’t just hurt. It bleeds.
He must sense me watching him because his gaze lifts and meets mine, a question in his eyes. I smile a soft smile and mouth, “Thank you.”
He winks and my stomach flutters. I’m falling for this man. I’m falling hard and I don’t know if I can stop it from happening. I don’t know if I even want to try.
An hour later, I know it’s time to go. “Dash has a deadline,” I announce. “I need to get him back to work.”
Dash slides his arm around me and says, “My little cupcake here is a slave driver.”
He did it. He called me cupcake. And my mother’s smile is instant and glowing.
A good fifteen minutes later, Dash and I settle into his car and I glance over at him. “You called me cupcake.”
“I just couldn’t resist.”
“Do you know the questions I now have to answer?”
“She’s smiling. That’s what matters.” His voice sobers, turns serious. “She’s good, Allie. Your mom is good. You can relax.”
My belly tenses. “I know. In my mind, I know.” My hand balls at my chest. “Here, not so much.”
“It’ll happen.” He rotates in his seat toward me. “Listen, baby, I have to fly out to LA tomorrow to deal with an investment turned to shit. I’ll be gone at least a few days if not most of the week. Stay with me again tonight. I’ll drop you at work on my way to the airport.”
He’s leaving.
This news takes me by surprise and I’m not sure why. He has a life outside his apartment and me. “I better not. You need to work and so do I. And I have nothing to wear tomorrow at your place.”
“I had one of my best writing days in months with you by my side yesterday so the ‘need to work’ protest fails. And we can swing back by your place and get you some clothes.” He catches my hand. “Come on, cupcake. Stay with me.”
For some reason, for an obvious reason really, his trip out of town reminds me that it will be me leaving soon, and all of this is just temporary. I could reject him for that reason or I can choose to enjoy him while I can. No regrets, I think. That’s one of the words of advice my mother gave me when she was handed her diagnosis. Live without regrets, Allie. I have regrets. Many regrets. Staying home tonight isn’t going to be one of them.