Chapter 16
Sixteen
Laila opened the front door to find Ramos standing there wearing a warm smile and a wicked glint in his eye, ready to commence the game of pretending last night never happened. Meanwhile, Whitney’s excited squeal filled the air, followed by the soft thuds of her jumping up and down. “Adrian’s here!”
The levity in the way she called his name hit like a burst of sunshine on an overcast day, and Laila’s heart gave a strong tug, an unwieldy smile breaking across her face.
She held his knowing stare since his presence was not at all a surprise. After all, he’d climbed out of her bedroom window moments earlier. Still, pretending he hadn’t gave her a rare chance—in a town full of busybodies—to keep something to herself. Even though her priority lay in protecting Whitney more than avoiding gossip.
“Come on in.” She stepped aside so Ramos could pass, then all three headed for the kitchen. “I promised Whitney French toast for her good behavior yesterday and I’m obligated to deliver.”
Whitney’s excited jumping kicked up another level. “Don’t forget the chocolate spread!”
“I haven’t forgotten.” She watched Ramos open a cupboard door and retrieve a mixing bowl. “Oh, no. You’ve done enough for me already.” She laughed and swiped the bowl from his hand, nudging him away with her hip. “At least let me make breakfast.”
His overly still and perplexed stare somehow smoldered with the sense he wanted to lean in and kiss her… If not for Whitney being nearby…
And still, Laila looked forward to Whitney being here. To a peaceful morning together and Adrian’s presence adding to the fun.
“Well, then I’ll gather ingredients.” He raised a brow, challenging her to stop him.
All she did was laugh and shake her head. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Can I help too?” Whitney peered up at Ramos, looking especially small next to him and in this cramped kitchen.
“Sure can, Chicken Nugget.” He scrubbed her hair. “I need someone to tell me where your Mama keeps everything. Let’s start with finding the eggs.”
Since he’d already used this kitchen to knock together last night’s dinner, he humored Whitney as she flung open the fridge and Laila tried not to wince at the crashing sound of the metal door hitting the cupboard beside it.
Seeming to take the crashing as a sign, Adrian moved quickly and shot out a hand, collecting the carton of eggs before Whitney could. He sent Laila a relieved expression as he lowered the carton to counter, and then asked Whitney if she could point out the milk and butter.
“We’ll need cinnamon and vanilla too, right?” He looked to Laila again, seeming to invite her into his interaction with Whitney.
Though Laila clamped her mouth shut and nodded, she held back from asking how he even knew what went into French toast. She usually forgot that stuff and had to look up most recipes on her phone.
Just assume from past evidence that the man likes to cook.
Ingredients gathered, she began mixing everything together, while Whitney’s cheery giggles continued through tugging Ramos between the kitchen and table, having taken on the task of placing napkins and utensils. The happy chaos lightened Laila’s mood and her heart thudded with a realization that this moment, right now, was everything she’d wanted for herself and Whitney all along.
And there’s no knowing how long it will last…
She left the bread to sizzle in a pan and watched Adrian setting down plates and glasses with Whitney, both chatting away while they worked. Such a commonplace image for most families, but one that succeeded in breaking Laila’s heart. Despite knowing otherwise, she felt like she’d failed her child.
The emotion-filled tension in her throat had her turning back to the pan. Stolen dreams aside, she’d been everything Whitney needed. That was enough. That was something to be proud of.
A fresh kettle boiled and the cooking done, Laila ferried a plate of stacked French toast to the table, the aroma of butter and cinnamon well and truly filling the air. This was what she’d built her daughter. A house full of love and safety, and moments of fun amongst her hectic schedule. Adrian was an added bonus. Not the cure to a problem that only existed if Laila gave it permission to set roots in her mind.
Still, she couldn’t help but notice contentment creeping in as they all sat around the table. This rare moment of calm in her busy life. A moment she didn’t carry all on her own because she implicitly understood Ramos would help if needed. He’d pass her the juice just out of reach or cut Whitney’s toast for her. He’d do that and so much more, just as he’d already donated his time and help because his friends needed him.
Because, despite her past experiences with Mike, the man sitting cross from her was a helper and perhaps an all-round decent person.
Once again, her throat constricted, so she turned to Whitney with a gentle smile and vowed to just enjoy the moment. “Good toast?”
Whit smiled up, teeth covered in chocolate, because, as predicted, Ramos had already helped spread and cut her toast. “Best day ever.”
Though Laila giggled, a small hitch in her voice had her gaze snapping to Ramos, his smile dropping to a twisted frown as if he’d read her heartache over her long-buried dreams.
Seeming to recover, he blinked and pointed to a photo of Whitney at six months old situated on a small bookshelf a few yards away. “Who’s that cutie?”
The photo featured her daughter cuddling a pink teddy bear, while wearing an oversized knit jumper and a mostly toothless grin. It stirred memories of another lifetime, one where Laila still clung to life’s possibilities and things seemed simpler.
Adrian narrowed his eyes at Whitney in mock skepticism. “That’s not you, is it?”
Whitney gave a big proud nod. “Yep.”
“No way.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe that baby is you. Where’s the big curly hair and where are all your teeth?”
“That is me.” Whitney pressed her fists into her hips and gave him a sarcastic glare. “I’ll prove it.”
With that, she leapt from her seat and bolted out the room.
“Guess it’s just you and me.” Laila turned from the vision of Whitney’s bouncing steps down the hall and shrugged at Adrian, catching his prolonged stare.
What went through his mind? Was this morning playing happy family too much? Was he having second thoughts?
Could she blame him?
“Laila?”
“Hmmm...” She refocused, not totally aware her mind had wandered, while playing at being oblivious to her likely obvious dip in mood.
“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” His pensive look deepened and her heart sank, as did her shoulders.
Here we go, we had our night together and now he’ll hit me with a sad dose of reality.
What tactic would he go with? “It’s not you, it’s me” or “I thought I could, but now I realize I can’t”?
And just as Whitney would likely re-enter the room, too...
“I know you said you’d given up, but”—he reached out and took her hand, the warm gesture sending a shock of confusion through her veins—“I was wondering if you’d like me to try to find Mike?”
“Wh… what now?” A useless creaking noise preceded her bumbling attempt at a question, her gaze darting aimlessly about his face, as she snatched her hand out of his. “Why would I want that?”
“Answers, I guess.” He gave a tight shrug, his gaze falling momentarily away. “I don’t mean to upset you, and I’m sorry if I already have, but you wouldn’t have to talk to him, and he won’t even know that I’m looking for him. What you might get out of this is that you’ll finally know what happened. You’ll be able to give Whitney some answers when she’s older. Maybe contact him should you really need to one day.”
Though her mouth hung loose, at least the fear of being post-sex dumped faded. Now her mind worked through the repercussions of what he’d just proposed. Truth be told, she didn’t know if or when she’d ever need to contact Mike again. Nor did she ever want to. But Adrian had a point. She had next to no family medical history for Mike’s side, and maybe, for Whitney’s sake, she would need that information. And yes, it would be nice to have at least something to share with Whitney when she got older and developed a potential desire for more details on her father.
“Go for it.” She snapped her mouth shut, a little surprised at the certainty in her tone.
“Are you sure?” Deep lines formed between his brow, hinting at his own doubts. “I’ve done investigative jobs before and sometimes the news isn’t what the client wants to hear.”
She shrugged, his warning still working to weigh on her. “Can’t be much worse than being ditched with a baby and not knowing why.”
His eyes narrowed just a little, again suggesting reluctance to believe her, his hand sliding across the table as if to console her, just before he stopped short of touching her, his attention snapping to his left.
“Look!” Whitney bound into the room, her voice an excited shriek as she waved the big, pink bear from the photo in her hand. “See, I am the baby in the picture!”
Ramos peered back to Laila with a somber look, before pasting on a smile and turning to Whitney. “Well, now, so you are.”
Whitney grinned and skipped over to her seat again, placing the teddy in the chair next to her and lifting her glass of orange juice to the bear’s mouth in a pretend sip.
Just then, a knock came from the front door, startling Laila even though she was quick to get up and answer it, the entire time regretting the broken moment. A beautiful woman stood on her landing dressed in what appeared to be an expensive emerald and white dress with a floaty, knee-length hem.
The woman looked vaguely familiar, and Laila tried not to squint in a quest to place where she’d seen her before. “Can I help you?”
The woman held a long pause, her stare scrunching with confusion, before a frown took over and she peered about her. “Hi, I’m sorry. I’m Rochelle, Emilia’s friend from out of town. I’m told a man lives next door to you, Ramos, but he’s not answering and I wondered if you’d know where he might be. I really need to speak with him.”
The lady met Laila’s gaze again, lips twisted in a small sign of nerves, though she shrugged one shoulder as if to hide the fact. “I see a car in his drive, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
“Rochelle?”
Though Laila took the chance to be the one to frown, Adrian squeezed in at her side, his quick familiarity with this woman tweaking something within her.
She didn’t want to fall into stereotypical jealousy, except here she stood, still looking ruffled from Whitney’s hurried awakening this morning, and there Rochelle stood, so well put-together and a little too eager to speak to Adrian…
Rochelle’s gaze rose to Adrian’s taller frame beside Laila, then dropped to Laila again. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
Laila grumbled and made to leave. “It’s fine. You two talk.”
“No, stay.” Rochelle’s voice shot out, and when Laila turned back, the woman extended a hand but didn’t go so far as to touch her. “Everyone will know soon enough.”
Her brows squeezed together, and she refocused on Ramos. “I came to apologize for snapping at you the other night at Maynard’s. The conversation you were all having about the syndicate freaked me out, and something you said compelled me to do a bit of digging. It seems... it seems... Oh, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to say this…”
She bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut, as though whatever she had to say couldn’t be said while looking anyone in the eye. Except, just at that moment, Adrian’s phone began to ring, and when he pulled it out from his jeans pocket, Dean’s name appeared on the screen.
Adrian cradled the phone in his hand, but his deep frown stayed on Rochelle. Though she still gnawed on her lower lip, she jutted her chin toward him, before saying, “Go ahead, answer it. I’ll wait.”
Adrian did just that, his brows drawing tighter together, as he mumbled a few words of understanding back at Dean, his attention veering up and to the distance, in the direction of town.
Laila followed his line of sight, to a point where the otherwise clear sky looked hazy, though she formed no real thought about that because by then, Adrian had ended his call, his attention still fused on Rochelle.
“Can this wait? I’m needed elsewhere.” He pulled Laila in and landed a quick kiss to her forehead, before brushing past Rochelle on the landing. “Seems the general store is on fire.”