The Invitation

I smiled. “What happened?”

“My ex-sister-in-law is pregnant. She’s about to pop. Rachel makes my ex-wife seem like a ball of fun. Neither has a sense of humor. The other night, Charlie asked me what I thought might be a good name for her soon-to-be cousin. I have no idea why, but I told her Aunt Rachel was going to name the baby Homeslice, and then spent five minutes convincing her it was the truth when she doubted me.”

My brows jumped. “Homeslice? As in the singular for my homies?”

He grinned. “I was obviously teasing, but then the food delivery interrupted our discussion, and I guess I failed to circle back and tell her I hadn’t been serious.”

“And she repeated it to her mother? I take it that didn’t go over too well.”

Hudson shook his head. “It gets worse. A few months ago, I was arguing with my ex-wife. She’d told me not to give Charlie ice cream anymore because her sister said being lactose intolerant was hereditary. I wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but Charlie is most definitely not lactose intolerant—she eats enough ice cream that we’d know if she was. We got into words about her sister butting her nose in again, and I called Rachel laughtose intolerant. After the argument, I didn’t even remember saying it until Charlie mentioned it again. I’d had no idea she was listening. But she was.” He took a breath. “Today it was Charlie’s turn for show and tell in class, and she brought in a picture of the last sonogram of her aunt’s baby. She told everyone her new cousin was going to be named Homeslice, and when the teacher said whoever told her that might’ve been joking around, Charlie said her aunt didn’t tell jokes because she’s laughtose intolerant.”

I covered my mouth. “Oh my God. That’s freaking hysterical.”

Hudson grinned. “It is, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Too bad my ex-wife lost her sense of humor a long time ago.”

“Well, if it helps any, I think it’s funny as hell. Most kids definitely overshare. In the ten minutes I sat with Charlie the other day, I learned you went to the beach last week, she once got a bellyache from an ice cream shop, and you write her notes on the fruit in her lunchbox. By the way, I think it’s very sweet that you do that.”

“When she first started kindergarten, she got really anxious at lunch because she wasn’t sure who to sit with. I wrote her the notes to help her relax while she unpacked her food. It sort of stuck.”

“I love that.”

He smiled. “It’s getting late. Why don’t we call it a day, and we can pick up here tomorrow? I’d like the marketing department to be involved when we get to the next topics anyway.”

“Oh, okay… Sure.”

We went back to our respective offices. A few minutes later, Hudson walked by on his way out and stopped.

“Plans with Ben tonight?”

I smiled. “No.”

“Good.” He rapped his knuckles against the doorjamb. “Don’t stay too late. You’re the last one here, and the cleaning people already came and went, so I’ll lock the door behind me when I leave.”

“Okay, thank you. I just have a few more things I want to finish up before I head out, too.”

He nodded and turned to leave, but then took a step back. “By the way, I heard you loud and clear earlier, so I won’t be asking you out again.”

The smile on my face wilted. “Oh…okay.”

He winked. “I’ll wait for you to ask me this time. Goodnight, Stella.”

***

When Hudson left, my concentration went with him. But I needed to get some work done before I could head home. There’d be plenty of time for overanalyzing every word the man said later—maybe while I was naked in a hot bath or while I de-stressed with the vibrator I kept in my nightstand. Right now I needed to work on the spreadsheet I’d been procrastinating about finishing all day. I wanted to have everything ready to go over with the team first thing in the morning.

But Excel wasn’t my jam to begin with, and it was getting late. So after I opened the spreadsheet, I just stared at the numbers. Unable to focus, I decided to dig my earbuds out of my purse. Classical music always helped me get into a zone. But as I worked, the office started to get really warm. The air conditioning must’ve been on a timer. Since I would use just about any excuse to take a break from working on a spreadsheet, I decided I needed to get some cold water from the lunchroom down the hall.

Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” came on while I filled my big cup with crushed ice from the refrigerator door, and I couldn’t help myself. Each and every time I heard it, I pretended to be the conductor. No one was around, so what the hell? I set my cup down on the counter, closed my eyes, and let the intensity of the music guide my arms as they waved around in the air. Nothing eased my mind like leading an orchestra. I got so into the moment that I became lost.