Not surprisingly, the judge had granted her request. Flint had had no say in the matter and only heard about the changed date when his attorney called to tell him he had to be in court the week before Christmas.
On the surface, not a lot had changed with Tamara. He still hadn’t been to her home. She hadn’t said why, but he could understand that it would be near impossible for her to have an infant in her most private space.
He would’ve been open to considering a lunchtime visit, but when she didn’t suggest it, neither did he.
She’d wrapped up her work at Owens and while he’d liked knowing she was in the building, they hadn’t crossed paths often enough for there to be a real difference in their time together. She’d taken the job in town, only a few miles from Owens, tentatively scheduling it for after the New Year. And on her last day in the office, he’d grabbed her out of view of all security cameras, telling her that knowing where the cameras were was a perk of spending so much time in the building—and then he kissed her. Soundly. So he could have that memory with him every single day he went to work.
She’d kissed him back fiercely. Telling him she wanted the memory to last.
They’d met for lunch four times that week. Twice they’d ended up in his Lincoln, making out. While it had been years since he’d even thought about kissing in a car, Flint was enjoying the slow pace of their relationship.
Tamara needed time.
He wanted her to have it.
If they went to her place, or his, they’d end up having sex and, as acutely as he needed that with her, he wanted it to be fantastic for both of them.
It wasn’t going to be for her until she had some things worked out.
She’d been over for dinner twice and on Saturday afternoon to watch a movie. ET not Wall Street. One day at lunch they’d been talking about their favorite movies growing up and had decided to watch them all with each other. Her top three were Mary Poppins, Annie and ET. Other than Wall Street, his were The Goose That Laid the Golden Egg, Rocky and Heaven Can Wait.
Things were vastly different between them when they were around Diamond. The baby wasn’t sleeping quite as much anymore. She’d happily spend time in her swing. Liked to be held for a while after she ate and before she went to sleep. She was also happy on a blanket on the floor for short periods, maybe ten minutes or so.
Tamara had mastered the art of bottle preparation. She’d taken over the sterilizing process, too, whenever she was there. She sat in a chair instead of on the couch with him when he was holding Diamond. And avoided looking in her direction at all other times.
Still, Flint took the week as a huge win.
She was trying.
And there was no doubt now that they equally craved their time together.
She came back on Sunday, bringing sushi for them to share while they watched a second movie. And then a third. They’d just finished Heaven Can Wait, a story about a young football player who’d left this world too soon, and she asked Flint about his mom. Not the bad stuff, she’d said, the good. She wanted to know all the things he’d loved about Alana Gold.
The things he wanted to pass on to Diamond.
If he was a guy who cried, he could have wept.
Over sushi, he asked her what she loved most about her parents. She’d liked that her mom never seemed like a doctor at home. She was just Mom.
Someone who worried too much. And was her greatest champion in the world.
“Dr. Frost,” he said, anxious for the time to come when he could meet them. He’d been hoping by Christmas, but Tamara hadn’t said anything.
“Her name’s not Frost.” The change in her tone was odd. Off. She looked like she had the day she’d picked up Diamond in his office.
Only different. Maybe worse.
“Your parents aren’t married?”
“Yes. They are.”
Sitting at the dining room table, with Diamond in her baby swing behind her, she dropped her California roll on the paper plate she’d brought.
He wasn’t getting the problem. His baby girl hadn’t made a sound. And Tamara couldn’t see her to know she’d just smiled at him.
She’d been doing that a lot lately, this girl of his, smiling when she saw him.
“So your mother kept her maiden name?” he asked, waiting to pick up another roll. He drank from the glass of wine she’d poured him.