The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

ONE

ANDREW

From the moment I left the house, I’ve been tempted to turn around and call the whole thing off. Tonight will be the first I’ve spent away from Bell since we’ve been on our own. Before her, I wouldn’t have thought twice about that. Before her, I didn’t think twice about much. One thing’s for sure—my definition of a sleepover has changed drastically since I became a father.

“We’ll roast marshmallows on the stove for s’mores and have girl talk.” My six-year-old lists the ways her aunt has enticed her to come for the weekend as we fight our way through Penn Station. “She has a doll for me that wears diapers and everything.”

“Diapers? Fascinating.” Sadie will have no problem parenting if she’s managed to trick Bell into thinking changing diapers is fun.

Bell tries to take her hand from my grip, but I tighten mine around hers and adjust her overnight bag on my shoulder. “Stay with me.”

“Look.” She points to the 1 train. “There it is!”

“Yeah,” I say, my tone decidedly less enthusiastic. We get passes and board. Bell’s nearly bouncing with excitement just from being on the subway. She didn’t get her fascination with New York City from me. Each time I bring her, part of me hopes the city’ll lose its appeal.

When we come up from the station into Times Square, though, I see that won’t be happening anytime soon. “Can we go to M&M World?” she asks before pulling me in another direction. “Can I get a dress from the Disney store?”

“No,” I say and repeat the same answer to all her demands. “I thought we were here to see Aunt Sadie, not buy a bunch of crap we don’t need.”

“We should bring Aunt Sadie a gift, though,” she says. “I remember she loves M&Ms.”

If I were younger, dumber, and greener, I’d praise my little girl for her selflessness. In fact, she’d pour “Aunt Sadie’s M&Ms” into her mouth first chance she got.

I steer her away from the flashing screens and bright lights, and in the direction of Bryant Park. Parking, boarding the train to Penn Station, switching to the subway, walking to Sadie’s office building—it’s a fuck of a lot of trouble for something I don’t even want to be doing.

We take the elevator to the seventh floor. The receptionist looks up from his computer when we walk in. With his gray button down and silver tie, he fits in perfectly with the neutral walls and glossy white desk of Amelia Van Ecken Communications, or avec.

“Look, Daddy,” Bell says, running to a chair in the foyer to touch it. “Blue suede—like Elvis.”

“That’s velvet,” I say.

She loses interest quickly and strides alongside me to the front desk. The lacquered surface reflects and distorts us as we approach, highlighting our height disparity, making our black hair even shinier.

The receptionist looks from me to Bell and back. “We don’t take walk-ins. Models need to make advance appointments or wait for casting calls.”

I straighten a little, feeling suddenly on display. It’s not my first time being mistaken for someone in the entertainment industry when visiting the city, but it hasn’t happened since my twenties. It’s always uncomfortable. “I’m not a model.” I show him a smudged hand. “Not unless it’s a commercial for car grease.”

“I was talking about her,” he says, raising one pruned eyebrow in Bell’s direction. “One of our clients designs a children’s line, and we occasionally hire kids to model the clothing during events.”

“Oh. Yeah, I figured.” I rub the back of my neck. Bell’s hair hasn’t been brushed since this morning, and she’s got Go-Gurt stains on her top but whatever. “I was joking.”

“No worries.” He trails his eyes down my body. “I can understand why you’d make that mistake.”

“We’re here to see Sadie Hunt,” I say before we stumble into any more misunderstandings.

“Regarding?”

“She’s my aunt,” Bell says.

“Oh. Of course.” He lifts a corner of his mouth and motions at a woman passing by. “Mindy—this is Sadie’s niece. Will you take them back?”

She stops mid-stride, her brown ponytail swinging as she gazes at me, wide-eyed. “Sadie?” she asks.

“Yes, you know, the woman who’s been training you the last month,” he says. “The only other brunette on the floor. Your point person on the IncrediBlast campaign.”

“Oh. Right. Sadie.” She blinks down to Bell’s hand in mine and then to her face. “You must be Bell.”

Bell squeezes my hand, rolling onto the balls of her feet. “You know me?”

; “Sure.” She smiles. “Sadie talks about you all the time. Come on, I’ll take you to her desk.”

Mindy takes us left into the next room, a sunlit, open space with large windows—not that it needs them, given there’s a massive chandelier. Posh as hell and the opposite of my taste. Long desks create a labyrinth of rows, each person’s workspace separated by Mac desktops, colorful supplies, bedazzled picture frames. Nobody looks up from his or her computer. Sadie’s dark hair pops against the white walls and gold-accented furniture. She stands, and Bell skips ahead to meet her, but Mindy walks me all the way to the desk.

“Thanks, Mindy,” Sadie says before turning to me. “Did you meet Mindy? She just started here.”

“Yes, I did.” I smile politely. Mindy’s a pretty girl with what I presume is good taste; I wouldn’t know, but this is a fashion and beauty PR firm. If I weren’t anxious about being apart from Bell this weekend, I might indulge in a little flirting. That’s the furthest thing from my mind right now, though. “Can you give us a minute, Mindy?”

“Oh.” She nods quickly. “Of course. It was nice to meet you.”

“Andrew,” Sadie scolds when we’re alone. “That was rude.”

“Was it?” I ask. “So about tonight—”

“She’s cute,” Sadie continues. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Bell has already taken over Sadie’s desk, organizing her office supplies into piles. I squint past the pyramid of ballpoint pens and mess of metallic binder clips as I shake my head. “Is that stapler made of gold?” I ask.

“It’s gold-plated,” Sadie says, as if gold and gold-plated are in two completely different realms. She glances at Bell and then moves closer to me. “What’re your plans this weekend?”

“Not sure yet.”

“You have two whole nights to yourself,” she points out.

“I’m aware.”

“It might not be a bad idea to . . . you know.”

I know where she’s going with this, and in my experience, it’s best if we change topics. Once Sadie gets going about the reasons I need to start dating again, I tend to tune her out pretty quickly. “What?” I ask. “Masturbate?”

“Ugh—gross.” She makes a face but undeterred, she nods in the direction Mindy just went. “Why don’t you go talk to Mindy? She’s single. I bet she’d be up for grabbing dinner tonight.”

I roll my eyes. Sadie assumes that because I don’t take women out, I don’t get laid. She forgets I’m a man, and that nothing, not even fatherhood, can take me out of the game for good. “Anyway,” I say. “About this weekend—”

“Don’t worry,” she says with an exasperated sigh. “We’ve got this. Nathan can’t wait. He already bought a bunch of crap for Bell to play with.”

“Why? It’s just a weekend.”

“I know. I told him.” She touches her stomach so lightly, I doubt she even realizes she’s doing it. “He says we’ll need toys anyway.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Better than the last time we talked. Now I’m mostly dealing with heartburn.” She says it cheerfully, as if heartburn is something she’d been hoping to get.

“Have you felt the baby move yet?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe?” She makes a face. “Is it terrible that I don’t know?”

“Nah. It can be hard to detect when it’s your first one. You’ll know when the baby really gets active.”

At the word baby, Bell perks up, swiveling in Sadie’s office chair. “Can I touch?”

Sadie smiles. “You don’t have to ask.”

“At nineteen weeks, barely anything there,” I say. “Just looks like you have a small gut.”

Sadie’s smile fades into a scowl. “At least I have an excuse.”

“Nice try.” I pat my six-pack. “Hard as a rock, no matter what I eat.”

She blatantly ignores me, because she knows it’s true and her joke sucked.

Bell cradles her aunt’s stomach like it’s a bubble at risk of popping. “I think I can feel it,” Bell says.

“Aww.” Sadie smiles. “That’s just gas, honey.”

I rub the bridge of my nose as memories of my ex’s pregnancy hit me. Not just a magical time, but also a gastrointestinal one.

Sadie runs a hand through Bell’s dark hair. They look so much alike they could be mother and daughter. “You could’ve dropped her off at our place if you’d waited another hour,” Sadie says. “I’m about to leave for the day.”

“Bell’s obsessed with riding the subway.” I raise my palms. “Don’t ask me why—I think she saw it in a movie. I’ve done my best to instill in her what a rotten place this city is, but she seems to like it.” I lean in a little. “Just don’t mention that Brooklyn isn’t technically Manhattan. She’ll throw a fit.”

Sadie laughs. “She takes after her aunt.”

“Not anymore, she doesn’t. I thought you were liking it?”

“I am. Brooklyn’s taken some getting used to,” she says slowly, “but our neighborhood’s great. We have friends close by and more space for what we were paying in Gramercy Park.”

Six months ago, Sadie moved to Brooklyn with Nate to save a marriage she’d nearly wrecked. Can’t say I blame her for trying to sabotage it, what with my parents and myself as relationship examples. “Things are still good, though, right?” I ask.

She nods. “We’re working on it every day, but we’re as happy as we’ve ever been.”

I look down at her stomach. “Hard to imagine it any other way with that bundle of joy on the way.”

“Oh, God.” She rolls her eyes. “You sound like Nathan. You guys are so sappy. I don’t know what’s so joyous about having to use the ladies’ room every hour or craving things I wouldn’t normally touch with a pole.”

I smile. All that’ll leave her memory as soon as the nurse hands her the baby. It didn’t exactly happen that way for Shana, who never forgot how much she hated being pregnant, but I know a lot of moms. They start talking about the next one pretty quickly. “You need anything at all and Nathan’s not around, you call me. Seriously.”

“Count on it.”

“Speaking of the can,” I say, “I need to take a leak.”

“Charming.”

“It took us almost an hour to get here because of the time of day.” I slump Bell’s duffel on the ground. “Nature calls.”

“Go back the way you came,” she says, pointing behind me. “Bathroom’s right before reception.”

I head through the maze of desks until I find a corridor with one door, but there’s an out-of-order sign plastered to it.

I’m about to go in anyway when a woman speaks, her tone clear but edged with impatience. “Finally,” she says. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you?”

I turn around and meet a pair of dusk-blue eyes. My gaze instantly drifts south. She’s a leggy blonde in a colorful blouse and tight navy skirt that hugs her very slight curves. The cream parts of her top are sheer, so of course I notice the dark, lacy bra underneath.

She puts her hands on her hips, and I look up again. Her eyes sparkle like she’s happy to see me, but the way she’s frowning, I get the feeling that’s not the case.

I glance from side to side, but we’re alone in the hall. “If that was an attempt at a pick-up line, you need to work on your delivery.”

She purses her red lips, forming them into a near-perfect heart. “There are seven women on this floor, four men, and one bathroom. You said you’d be here hours ago. Did you flush your work ethic down the toilet at your last job?”

I reel back, crossing my arms over my chest. That’s a whole lot of attitude for so few words, and nobody but Bell gives me attitude. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I’m here to see my sister, not get yelled at.”

She furrows her brows with a tilt of her head. “Aren’t you with the plumbing company?”

My first instinct is to laugh, but I think she’s just insulted me. I could see why

she’d assume that if I were still in my coveralls from the garage, but I’ve showered and changed since leaving work. In jeans and a clean t-shirt, I’m not exactly King of England, but it’s not like my ass crack is showing. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Then what’re you doing in my agency?” she asks. “And why are you wasting my time?”

Sadie saves me. “I’m sorry, Amelia,” she says, hurrying over. “This is my brother.”

The woman—Amelia—stares at me, but I give it right back to her. I hold out my hand. “Andrew Beckwith, brother, father, non-plumber.”

She looks at my hand, then at Sadie.

“He’s just dropping off my niece for the weekend,” Sadie explains.

The corners of Amelia’s mouth droop. “There’s a child in here?”

Sadie nods. “Yes, but I’m taking her home right now. She won’t even have time to make a mess.”

Spurned, I drop my hand back to my side and suck my front teeth. Typical New York City girl. Not a single blonde hair on her head is out of place. She’s tall and thin, with a small but defined nose and almond-shaped, stunningly blue eyes. My first thought is that she’s definitely not Shana. Black-haired, petite, tattooed and pierced ex-girlfriends used to be my type. Now, it’s a woman who’s anything but. This one may look like a sexy Barbie, but she’s arrogant as hell. I don’t think it’s any coincidence every entitled chick I’ve come across in my thirty-five years hails from or is heading to the city.

If I’m expecting an apology from this woman, it’s clear I’m not going to get one. But I still have to piss, and now that I’m aware of it, the situation’s getting serious.

“If the repairman isn’t here in the next ten minutes,” Amelia announces, “I’ll have to fix the toilet myself, and getting dirty in expensive clothes makes me very, very cranky.”

Pretty sure I’d like to see her in her stuffy outfit on the bathroom floor getting dirty.

A few people groan.

I open my mouth to ask how much crankier she can get, maybe even lighten the mood with a joke, but Sadie shakes her head quickly, warning me off.