“They were friends from home.” He paused as he turned around slowly, and I glanced at his face, trying to spot something which would indicate if he was telling the truth, but I couldn’t see anything. Nothing at all.
“Home,” I murmured. “Do you…do they want you to go home?” I stood slowly, waiting for his answer, but when he didn’t give me one, I continued, “Because if you have to go home, that’s fine. I…I’ll be fine here alone, and—”
“What about when the baby comes?” he interrupted. “You’ll need help when the baby comes.”
He had a point, but I didn’t want to put that responsibility onto him. He hadn’t gotten us into this situation. I had. “Maybe…” I pulled in a breath, scared to say the next words. “Maybe we should both go home?”
He stepped toward me, his lips flattening into a straight line. “Is that what you really want?” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You want to go home to…what? Ford isn’t there. So why?”
“Well…” I wasn’t sure how to answer him. I hadn’t expected him to get so defensive, but hearing him utter Ford’s name had my shoulders drooping. “We were only meant to be here for the summer, and now it’s over. So, maybe we should go back to our own lives. This was only meant to be temporary.”
Curtis was quiet for so long I wasn’t sure he was going to answer me, but he finally ground out, “There’s nothing for you there, but if you want to go home, then I’ll take you.” He grabbed his leather jacket off one of the dining chairs. “I can’t talk about this shit all day. I’ve got to go to work.”
“O…okay,” I whispered, feeling like I’d just been told off for eating a jumbo bag of chips right before dinner. He flung open the front door and stepped outside. “I’m sorry, Curtis.” I could barely make the words out, but I knew he heard me because he halted. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected him to do, but it wasn’t to walk out without saying another word. He was upset. I just didn’t understand why.
This was only a temporary thing, but maybe he didn’t want to go home. Maybe he was using me as an excuse so he didn’t have to. Was I in the wrong for suggesting it? I’d only been thinking about reaching out to my mom the last day or two, at least seriously anyway. Maybe I was being selfish by only thinking about what I wanted?
Sagging against the back of the sofa, I stared at the front door as I listened to his car start. And even though part of me wanted to go out there and tell him we’d stay as long as he wanted, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My head was a jumble of thoughts. I wasn’t sure what was the right or wrong thing to do. It didn’t matter how long I stood here and debated it because it wouldn’t change a thing.
So instead of spending the rest of the night mulling over the few words spoken between us, I scooped up my books, grabbed my purse, pushed my feet into my tennis shoes, and left the house. Leopold would be closing up the store by now, so if I did the three-minute walk to his house, I’d get there just before him. Maybe he’d cook me some of his homemade pasta. I was eating for two, and the baby wanted it too.
Just as I was about to turn into his driveway, I spotted him turning the corner. “Hey!” I shouted, and it
echoed around the open space.
I could see his grin from this far away, and the closer he got, the bigger it became. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he greeted, taking the books out of my arms immediately. “What are these?”
“Baby books,” I told him as we walked side by side up his driveway. It was a circular drive that held two cars, though I’d only seen him drive a handful of times. The large wraparound porch was the type you saw in the movies, and the yellow and white siding screamed spring and summer, but I knew he had plans of painting it a burnt orange in the next couple of weeks.
“Hmmm, I don’t believe I’ve read these.” He turned them to stare at the spines. “Maybe this one.” He pointed to the middle one and snorted. “I’m lying. I’ve never read them.”
I cracked a real smile, the first one that day, and my shoulders started to loosen. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been until that moment, and apparently, it was glaringly obvious because he halted in front of his door and tilted his head to stare at me. He didn’t need me to say any words, and I didn’t need him to either. He could sense it, just like my dad and Ford had always been able to. Maybe that was why I was so drawn to Leopold? Because he reminded me of them, or at least, an older, more eccentric version.
“Pasta?” he asked, already knowing, and I nodded vigorously.
I followed him inside the vast entryway, the dark wooden flooring shining so much it hurt my eyes. I’d been inside his home so many times that I almost felt more comfortable here than at the cabin, most likely because of the company.
We walked through the living room, which had floor-to-ceiling books on one side and various items he’d collected on his travels around the world, and into the attached dining room, and then finally into the kitchen that was twice the size as the other rooms and backed out onto the back porch.
Leopold placed the books on the breakfast nook counter and pulled a high-backed chair out for me. “Sit.” I did as I was told, and he squeezed my shoulder, then moved toward the sink to wash his hands. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re strung tighter than a guitar?” He turned suddenly, his eyes as wide as saucers. “It’s not the baby, is it?”
“No,” I rushed out, placing my hand on my bump. “Not that. Baby is fine. I told you that Thursday after the doctor’s visit.”
He faux wiped his forehead and grinned at me. “But today is Saturday, and I’m past the age of twenty-one now.” He winked, and I chuckled, feeling more tension leave my body.
“I turned twenty-one over the summer.” It was an offhand comment. Birthdays were a big thing in my family, and I’d missed the one with them that would mean I could drink alcohol—legally anyway.
“I know,” Leopold said, wiping his hands dry and moving toward the countertop where he then placed ingredients to make pasta.
My brows rose on my forehead. “You do?”
“Yep.” He sprinkled some flour onto the counter. “I’m your boss, remember? I had to look at your ID.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course you did.” I stared at his hands as he made a well in the flour and cracked some eggs into it. I wasn’t sure what the other ingredients were, but I was enthralled as he added them all and finally gathered it into a dough. He worked fast, and within moments, he was putting it through the pasta machine attached to the countertop and cutting it into strips.
“So?” Leopold asked, and I glanced up to look at his face. He had a splatter of flour on his waistcoat. “You want to talk about it or just eat pasta?”
I let out a breath and groaned. Leopold had become the one person I’d been able to confide in while I was here. There were things I couldn’t tell Curtis—or I felt like I couldn’t. Whenever I would mention Stella or Justin, he’d change the conversation. Whenever I got excited about the baby or scared, he didn’t react. So I’d taken to talking to Leopold, and he was a great listener.