Chapter 1 – Bea
I’m putting the final touches on my outfit for the night, and Marco is pacing in the background.
But he wasn’t worried about meeting my father. On the contrary, he was nervous about Caroline, Alessia, and Aurora’s grandmother watching them.
With her Parkinson’s getting worse, she’s having a hard time walking. And if she falls, the girls won’t be able to help her get back up.
Of course, I completely understand his concerns, but we made sure that Caroline had both my number and my mother’s in case she couldn’t get through to Marco for some reason.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say—even though I have no way of knowing that for sure. But she said she planned to mainly sit in the recliner in the living room while the kids played nearby.
Marco finally stands still and runs his fingers through his abundance of hair. It’s gotten a little longer than it was when we first started dating, and he wants to cut it. But I keep pushing back because I think it’s sexy. But he thinks it makes him look like he’s trying too hard to be young. However, so far, I’m still winning this battle.
“Are you ready?” I ask after spraying some dry shampoo on my hair.
“I think so.” He checks his phone one more time and then offers me his arm. I happily accept it.
“Let’s do this.”
He has offered to drive, so I get into the passenger’s seat and buckle my seat belt.
“Oh! Did you bring that nice bottle of brandy?”
“I did. It’s in the back seat.”
I look back and spot it. “Good. My dad will love that.”
“That’s the plan.” He looks over and smiles. Then, he anxiously taps at the steering wheel.
It didn’t take long for us to arrive at the pub, and my parents were already there waiting.
I gave them both a hug, and my mom opened her arms to receive Marco.
“Sorry, I’m a hugger. I’m not sure if you remember . . .”
“That’s okay. I am too.”
When they part, I reintroduce him to my father.
As he usually did, he remained stoic and stone-faced, but he did shake Marco’s hand.
“Marco got this for you, Daddy.” I take the bag off the table and hand it to him.
“Remy Martin. Very nice. Thanks.”
“No problem, sir.”
“Well? Should we sit?” I suggest.
“Yeah, yeah. We already ordered some appetizers,” my mother says.
“Great. Thanks.”
Then, she puts her elbows on the table and scoots closer to the table. “So, I assume you’re still a lawyer, Marco?”
He takes a sip of his water before answering, “Yes, I am.”
“Any interesting cases recently?”
“Uh . . .”
“He can’t really talk about those, Mom.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry.”
“No worries. Mr. Carter, I understand that you’re a retired carpenter.”
“I am.”
“You know, I’ve always wanted to get into wood working.”
Mom bumps his shoulder with her own. “Why don’t you have Marco down at your shop one day and show him around?”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to impose—”
“It’s no imposition. I offered. How about next weekend?”
Marco looks over at me, and I give him an encouraging look. “I’ll watch the girls,” I offer.
“Well, then, I guess I don’t have any reason to say no.”
“Great. That settles that.”
“How’s everything going?” the server asks. “Still working on the combo platter?”
“Yes. Thank you,” I say while covering my mouth because there’s food in it.
“Got it. Why don’t you flag me down when you’re ready to order dinner.”
“We will. Thank you,” Marco jumps in to say.
“Okay, are we good on drinks for now?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Then, she leaves, and we have to devise something else to discuss.
“How are the plans for the open mic night going?”
“Open mic night?” Marco repeats.
“Yeah. My mom just told Micky and me that we’re going to start holding a weekly event for the kids around the area to come and showcase their talent.”
My mother crosses her arms. “I still can’t believe you aren’t going to sing.”
Marco turns to me. “Bea? Seriously? Come on! You’re so good.”
I feel the color leaving my face. “When did you hear me singing?”
“It was one time you were watching the girls. I came home through the front door, and I thought the radio was on . . . that’s how talented you are.”
“It’s no use, Marco. Trust me. We’ve had this conversation time and time again, and she always refuses.”
“Hmph.” He shrugs his shoulders, and I can tell that he is far from trying to convince me to do it.
“Anyway, do you have the stage built yet, Dad?”
“Just about.”
“Oh, you’re making it yourself? That’s awesome.”
My father just kind of grumbles.
“And I bought the microphones,” Ma says.
“So, is the night mostly just going to be for singing or—”
“Anything. Slam poetry, instrument playing, singing, whatever someone wants to do.”
“That’s really awesome,” Marco comments.
“Ah, and I just remembered, we’re also going to have a coffee cart available.”
This makes me look at her kind of funny. The whole point of this event was to bring in revenue . . . not take it away from the store.
She seems to read my mind. “Don’t worry, Beatrice. My friend owns the company, and she’s giving us a deal.”
“Okay. But who is going to make the coffee?”
“You and Micky,” she mutters like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“What? We don’t know how to make fancy drinks. I can do a coffee with a few creams and sugars, but that’s about it.”
“Well, then you are in luck,” Marco says.
“What do you mean?”
“I worked as a barista while I was in law school.”
“Really? And—and you still remember how to make everything?”
He dips his chin in my direction. “Excuse me! I’m not that old.” He tickles my side. “But yes, I remember. Why don’t we ask the owner at Ernie’s if we can stop by before or after hours to use their setup.”
“That’s Ernestine Smith. I know her from the community center,” Mom offers.
“Do you think she’d be open to that?”
“I don’t see why not.”
Marco claps his hands and then rubs them together. “Great. This is going to be fun.”
I sit in awe of him. One evening, he managed to acquire a new hobby and agreed to revisit an old skill. All of this while still being an incredibly busy attorney and single father to two little girls. He really is amazing.
“What?” he asks after noticing me staring.
I lean over, put my arm on his shoulder, and play with the ends of his hair. “You’re just a very multi-faceted person. It’s like I can never stop learning new things about you.”
“I’m sorry. I try to be as open as possible—”
“Oh, no. It isn’t a criticism. You’re just this little unsolvable puzzle, and I love it.”
We stare into each other’s eyes until my father loudly clears his throat, and I remember that it isn’t just us in the restaurant.