Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
THERESA
Saturday morning, and I was humming.
I didn’t even realize it until Paris looked up from her cereal with those all-seeing five-year-old eyes and announced, “Mom, you’re doing that thing.”
I paused, coffee cup halfway to my lips. “What thing?”
“The humming thing. The smiley thing.” She tilted her head, studying me like I was an interesting bug. “You never do that anymore.”
The kitchen went silent. Rome stopped mid-chew, a spoonful of cereal suspended in front of his mouth. Austin’s head came up from his book—some dense thing about rockets that was way above second-grade level. Even Aspen paused her drawing.
Michael and Shelly exchanged a glance across the table. Blaze and Fury, mercifully oblivious to the sudden tension, kept eating.
“I—” My mind went completely blank. “I was just thinking about work. Tuesday’s board meeting went well.”
Paris narrowed her eyes. “You don’t smile about work.”
“Sure I do.”
“No, you don’t. You get that worried face.” She scrunched up her features in an exaggerated impression of concentration. “This is different. This is the face you made when Dad would call to say he was coming home early.”
Rome’s spoon clattered into his bowl. “Are you talking to Dad? Is he calling from heaven?”
“No, sweetheart. That’s not—”
“Then why are you smiling?” Paris pressed, relentless in her five-year-old logic.
“I’m just having a good morning,” I said, my voice coming out too high, too defensive. “Can’t I just have a good morning?”
Shelly stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “Who wants pancakes? I’m making pancakes. Blaze, Fury, come help me mix the batter. Paris, you too. I need someone to crack eggs.”
“But I want to know why Mom’s—”
“Pancakes. Now.” Shelly’s tone left no room for argument. “With chocolate chips. But only if you help.”
Paris slid off her chair with obvious reluctance, shooting me one last suspicious look before following Shelly to the counter. Within moments, Shelly had kids arguing over who got to pour what, Fury “helping” by getting flour everywhere.
I excused myself and escaped down the hallway, ending up in Marco’s office.
I needed to distract myself. Stop thinking about tonight. Stop checking the clock every five minutes like a teenager.
I settled into the chair behind his desk—my chair now, I supposed—and pulled the Scottish manufacturing files from my briefcase. Concrete things I could control. Patrick’s connections had given me some time to prove myself to the board.
I spread the documents across the desk, reviewing the letter of intent from Duncan. The terms were good—better than good, actually. If I could convert these into actual contracts, it would be the proof Arthur and his supporters needed to see that I could lead this company.
I was making notes on my Palm Pilot when the door opened.
“So, tell me.”
I jumped, nearly dropping the device. Michael stood in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing that big brother expression I’d known my entire life.
“Jesus, Michael. Knock.”
“The door was open.” He came in and leaned against Marco’s bookshelf, studying me with those knowing eyes. “Why are you so happy?”
I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“The kids are right. You’ve been smiling all morning. And humming.” His expression was gentle but relentless. “What’s going on, Tess?”
Heat crept up my neck. “I’m not allowed to be happy? That’s suspicious now?”
“After three and a half months of watching you barely keep your head above water? Yeah, it’s a little suspicious.” He moved closer, his voice softening. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I’m just asking what changed.”
I set down my Palm Pilot harder than necessary. “Did Shelly not tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“That I’m going out with Patrick McCrae tonight.” The words came out defensively, almost challenging.
Michael’s eyes widened. “The guy from the conference?”
“Yes. The man with the Scottish manufacturing connections. The connections that are the only reason Arthur didn’t succeed in pushing me out.” I was talking too fast, the words tumbling over each other. “We’re having dinner. To discuss the partnership.”
“To discuss the partnership?” Michael repeated.
“That’s what I said.”
“Right. And that’s why you’ve been giddy like a teenager since breakfast.”
I looked down at my hands, at the wedding ring. “It’s not—it’s more complicated than that.”
Michael pulled out the chair across my desk and settled into it. “Then uncomplicate it for me.”
“He asked me to dinner. Not just as a business contact. As a person.” My voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “And I said yes.”
“Okay.” Michael’s voice was calm. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Terrified, guilty, excited, and terrible for being excited.” I pressed my hands to my face. “It’s four months, Michael. Four months since Marco passed, and I’m getting dressed up for dinner with another man.”
“Does this other man make you feel less alone?”
The question caught me off guard. “Well… yes.”
“Does he understand what you’re going through?”
“He lost his wife a year ago. And he has six kids under ten. Can you imagine that? So yeah, he understands in a way that no one else does.”
Michael nodded slowly. “And you’re going to spend this dinner talking about business, or are you going to talk about other things?”
“I don’t know.” My voice cracked. “Both? Neither? I don’t know what I’m doing, Michael.
I just know that when I talk to him, I can breathe.
When he looks at me, I don’t have to pretend to be okay.
And when he touched my hand—” I stopped, the memory of Patrick’s fingers against mine making my chest tight.
“I finally felt something other than grief.”
“Tess.” Michael’s voice was gentle. “You’re allowed to feel something other than grief.”
“Am I? Because it feels like betrayal. Like I’m erasing Marco.”
“You could never erase Marco.” He leaned back, his expression softening. “You loved him for half your life. You built a company. You made four incredible kids. Nothing changes that. Marco may be gone, but you’re here. You’re still a young woman, you deserve to feel something good.”
Tears burned at the back of my eyes. “What if I’m doing this too fast?”
“What if you’re not?” he countered. “What if there’s no timeline? What if you’re just a person who met someone who understands, and you’re allowed to explore that without it meaning you loved Marco any less?”
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him.
His expression shifted to big-brother protective mode. “But I’m also your brother. I’ve always watched out for you, and I will not stop now. So yes, I’m also allowed to make sure he’s good enough for you.”
Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch. “You’ve been protecting me since I was three and Tommy Brierly tried to steal my juice box.”
“He deserved what he got.” Michael said. “And anyone who hurts you now will get the same treatment. Age-appropriate version, of course.”
I stood and moved around the desk, and he rose to meet me. When he pulled me into a hug, I let myself lean into it—this man who’d held me together when Marco died, who’d moved into my house and taken over the sheer volume of it, and never once complained.
“Thank you,” I whispered against his shoulder.
“For what?”
“For letting me do this. For not making me feel like a terrible person.”
He pulled back to look at me, his hands on my shoulders. “You’re not a terrible person, Tess. You’re just a person trying to survive.” He paused, then added with a slight grin, “You’ve been strong-willed since the day you were born.”
I smiled through my tears. “That’s me in a nutshell.”
He chuckled. “I wish things were still that simple. Back in the day, I could fix everything by shoving a few boys into a sandbox.” He gave my shoulders one last squeeze before letting go. “Now go find Shelly. She’s probably already got your outfit picked out.”
“Absolutely not.”
I stood in front of my closet in my bra and slip, staring at the contents as if they’d personally offended me. Every dress I owned suddenly looked wrong—too formal, too casual, too… whatever.
Shelly sat cross-legged on my bed, fingers tapping against her knee. She’d shown up ten minutes ago with that knowing look on her face and immediately banished Michael and the kids downstairs.
“The black one makes me look like I’m going to another funeral,” I said, pulling out a dress and holding it up. “The blue one is too… I don’t know, it’s just not right.”
“The blue one is too date-night,” Shelly supplied. “And you’re trying to maintain the fiction that this is just dinner between two professionals.”
“It is just dinner.”
“Right. And that’s why you’ve changed your mind about what to wear seventeen times.” She stood and moved to my closet, pushing hangers aside. “Tell me again what happened Tuesday. I need the full story.”
I sank onto the bed. “I already told you. The board meeting went well.”
“And then you had coffee with Patrick to discuss the Scottish partnership, and he asks you out.”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“And?” Shelly turned to look at me, skeptical. “That’s not the entire story, Tess. You came home Tuesday looking like you’d been hit by a truck. A very attractive Scottish truck.”
I picked at a loose thread on my comforter. “He told me he thinks about me constantly. That he hasn’t felt this alive since his wife died.”
“I knew it.” Shelly pulled out a deep green dress I’d forgotten I owned—simple, elegant, nothing too dramatic.
“This one. It says dinner. With someone who understands what you’re going through.
Someone who knows how hard this is.” She moved to my jewelry box, then paused. “What are you doing about jewelry?”
My hand went automatically to my wedding ring. “I don’t know. I tried to take it off this morning. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”