The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

Instead, I ask, “Didn’t you say there were four men on this floor?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t one of them fix it?”

Amelia throws back her head and laughs, but it sounds more controlled than carefree. “Has hell frozen over? These boys wouldn’t know a wrench if I knocked them upside the head with one. And believe me, I’ve considered it.”

I check my watch, though I’m not sure why. I’ve got nowhere to be—except, hopefully, the toilet. “You got tools here? I’ll take a look.”

“Andrew’s extremely handy,” Sadie says.

Amelia doesn’t miss a beat. She motions for me to follow her. “Right this way, handyman.”

The pitter-patter of feet follows us as we continue down the short hallway. “Can I help?” Bell yells after me.

Amelia glances over her shoulder at me. “Is that your child?” she asks, as if she’s accusing me of something.

“Yeah. There a problem?”

“No.” She shrugs a shoulder before opening a door to a closet. On the floor sits an impressive steel caddy. “But why does she want to help fix a toilet?”

“Because like her old man, she knows the way to get shit done is to do it yourself. Maybe if you knew how, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Oh, I know how,” she says, glancing back at me. “I just choose to have others do it for me.”

Before I can stop the image, I picture Amelia in the bathroom again, this time bent over, her skirt riding up the backs of her thighs. I shake the thought away, not even sure where it came from. If anything, she embraces a lot of what I avoid in women. Her clothes are all class, her hair and makeup perfect, and she seems more delighted than apologetic about mistaking me for a plumber. I’m either insulted or impressed that she’s got me doing her bitch work within minutes of meeting me.

Ignoring her last comment, I turn and squat to Bell’s level. “I got this, kid. Go wait with Aunt Sadie.”

Her eyebrows vault together. “But I want to help,” she whines. “You said I’m good with tools.”

“Honey,” Amelia says from above us, “when a man offers to do your dirty work, let him. Always.”

I look to Sadie for help, who seems to notice my irritation and immediately calls Bell back.

When Bell’s out of earshot, I stand and turn to Amelia. “Do not put that kind of bullshit in my kid’s head,” I warn.

Once again, an apology doesn’t even seem to occur to her. Two dimples dent her cheeks as if she’s holding in a smile. “How is that bullshit?”

“I’m not raising an entitled, spoiled brat. Bell’s toilet needs fixing, she’ll know how to do it herself.”

“Are you calling me an entitled, spoiled brat?”

I look her over. It’s hard to ignore the way her skirt accentuates her small waist and comes right up under her tits. She does have one thing in common with Shana, and that’s a great rack. I return my eyes to her face. “If the skirt fits . . .”

Amelia glances down at her outfit quickly and then points to the tools. “Well, I won’t try to change your mind,” she says. “Now, how about that toilet?”

TWO

Downstairs, I walk Sadie and Bell to their subway station. “Maybe we should get dinner before you go,” I say. “Bell hasn’t eaten since . . .”

“Since?” Sadie prompts.

“The ride here.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I’ve already got a meal planned at home. Nathan and I went grocery shopping last night.”

I open my mouth.

“And no,” she cuts me off, “you can’t come.”

I’m not ready to say goodbye, but I can’t figure out how to score an invite without sounding desperate.

“What’d you think of Mindy?” Sadie asks.

“Who?”

“The new girl. The one you just met upstairs not thirty minutes ago? She showed you to my desk?”

“Oh.” I glance sidelong at Sadie. “I think all your colleagues will be happy they have a functioning toilet thanks to the handsome stranger.”

Sadie elbows me. “Andrew.”

“Could we not talk about this in front of the kid?” I ask.

“We’re not talking about anything,” Sadie says.

I glance down at Bell, who hasn’t said a word since we left Sadie’s office. She walks between us, watching the sidewalk, completely oblivious to her surroundings. “You’re quiet, Bluebell.”

She looks up at me and smiles with her mouth closed—a telltale sign she’s nervous. I’m not exactly at ease, either, but she doesn’t need to know that. I ruffle her hair. “Looking forward to your sleepover?”

“Yes,” she says.

I wait for her to launch like the rocket she is into all the things they’re going to do tonight. One-word answers are a rarity with her.

“Ginger’s excited to see you,” Sadie offers.

Bell just takes my hand and says, “She’s a dog. She doesn’t know I’m coming.”

I exchange a glance with Sadie. “Maybe this is a bad idea,” I say under my breath.

“Relax. This is good for everyone. You need a break, and she needs to try something without you. You’re always bragging about how independent she is, but she isn’t when it comes to you.”

I look at my shoes. That’s because I want Bell to be independent—just not from me. That might be the last thing in the world I want. She’s still my baby. I’m not sure how I’ll sleep knowing she isn’t under my roof where I can protect her. “What about you?”

“It’s good for Nathan and me.” Sadie smiles. “Practice.”

My bad mood eases a little. In about four months, Bell will no longer be the baby of the family. As hard as it was, especially with Shana dragging her feet as a new mom, I miss baby Bell. She was as fussy then as she is now, and I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was the start of the best years of my life.

We stop at the subway, and I pass Sadie Bell’s overnight bag as I squat. “I’ll pick you up Sunday. You can call me anytime if you need anything.”

“How?”

“With Aunt Sadie’s phone.”

“But . . .” She looks up at Sadie and back to me. “Maybe you can come too?”

“Dads are no fun at sleepovers,” Sadie says. “I’m not even sure we’ll let Uncle Nathan stay.”

Bell swallows, and her eyes water. “I don’t want to go.”

“Aw, come on, kid,” I say, smiling, even though her words tear my heart in half like it’s straight up rice paper. “You’ve been excited about this all week.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You’re a big girl, Bell,” I say. “No tears. What do you always tell me about crying?”

She inhales a shaky breath but after a moment, her shoulders drop a few inches. “It’s for little boys.”

“There we go.” I nod. “Now, go with Aunt Sadie, and give Ginger a kiss for me.”

Her cheeks, pink from holding in tears, round with a small smile. “What about Uncle Nathan?”

“When have you ever seen me kiss Uncle Nathan?”

She giggles, and I peck her forehead before standing again. I want her to be tough. To speak her mind and stand up for herself. I also want her to stop growing up so fast. It’s a war in me that never seems to end—raise a smart, mature, confident girl while keeping her my baby. Sometimes I worry I’m doing a shit job of all of it.

“What’re you going to do now?” Sadie asks.

Normally at this time, I’d be prepping dinner. Maybe grocery shopping with Bell or listening to her day as I chop vegetables. It’s too early for a drink, or I’d go to Timber Tavern, my local watering hole. “Head home, I guess.”

She holds open her arms. “But you’re in New York City. Why not do something fun? Live a little.”

“I’ve hated this place since we were kids. It’s full of superficial snobs, present company included.”