The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,114

don’t give up on her,” he says, and I don’t have to question why he’s so adamant. He’s been through his own shit with Sadie. He fought for her then, and he’d fight for her again. That kind of love is a gift, and maybe I’ve been given the opportunity to fight for it as well. “Amelia has her rough edges,” he says, “so do you. If you two somehow fit together, that’s a little bit of a miracle, isn’t it?”

It’s true—I can’t imagine anyone out there worse for me than Amelia. She should be with someone like Reggie, someone wealthy, influential, ambitious. I should be with someone who could spend a day talking shit and smoking cigarettes at the garage with me and the guys.

“Plus, Bell seems to like her,” Nathan adds. “I saw how she grabbed her hand before we left.”

My chest tightens. Bell is noticing Amelia, and because she’s just a kid, she’ll trust her. If that’s supposed to make me happy, it doesn’t. What happens if Bell turns ten, and Amelia isn’t there to give her a locket? I didn’t worry about these things before Shana, and since her, I’ve never cared enough to worry.

I nod at Nathan as if I’m agreeing, so we can end the conversation. Because I won’t be able to put into words the fear of Bell and Amelia getting close, and even if I could, he wouldn’t understand.

He will, in about three months, but until he has a little girl of his own, he won’t realize the lengths he’ll go through to protect her.

Or the ways a father would unflinchingly sacrifice his own happiness for his daughter’s.

TWENTY-EIGHT

My mood has been foul since I picked Bell up from the baby shower. Maybe sensing this, Pico invites us all to his mom’s place for dinner. I don’t want company, but the alternative is sitting at home, wondering if I’m making a mistake by not going to Amelia’s. Twice, I’ve gotten out my phone to tell her I’m not coming, to put a definitive end to our relationship, and twice I’ve chickened out.

Bell sits at the kitchen table with crayons and a coloring book. Between her, three guys, and all the place settings, there’s barely room for Flora at her own table.

“Got to get a bigger set up, ma,” Pico says.

“Why are there two extra settings?” I ask.

“Antonio has invited a lady friend,” she says.

“A what?” I ask.

Randy perks up as well. “A lady friend?”

Pico shrugs. “Didn’t I mention? I’m sure I did. Yeah.”

“No,” we say in unison. Pico hasn’t been on a date in over a year, and he hasn’t gotten laid in that long either. We would know.

“She’s lovely,” Flora says. “Her son too. Sammy, is it?”

Bell’s head pops up. “Sammy’s coming?”

I gawk at Pico. “You’re dating Sammy’s mom?”

“Yeah. Why? Were you interested?” he mocks. “Too bad. She chose me.”

“I’m not interested.” I nod discreetly at Bell. “But you’ll have that to deal with if things go south.”

The doorbell rings, and Pico leaves the room. He’s changed out of his clothes from the shop and fixed his hair. Maybe I haven’t been paying as close attention as I thought. He returns with Myra, who has her hands on Sammy’s shoulders as she leads him into the kitchen.

“Hey, Bell,” he mutters, his gaze bouncing from her to me to Pico to his mom and back to Pico. Sammy’s a year older than Bell, and he seems to already grasp what’s going on. Fuck dating as a single parent.

Bell passes Sammy a yellow crayon and shows him what she’s working on—a monkey at a zoo. “You can color the bananas, but stay inside the lines. My dad will probably put this on the fridge.”

I smile sheepishly as Pico and Randy groan. I think Flora might even snort. “I can’t remember a time I saw a wall without a coloring book page taped to it,” Randy says, referring to my office at the garage, which is covered with them.

“Myra understands,” I say, turning to her. “Don’t you hang Sammy’s things?”

“Not if I can help it,” she says. “He didn’t exactly get the creative gene.”

Bell pauses, her concentration lines easing, as if she’s deciding whether or not to proceed with this duet she’s just orchestrated. She checks Sammy’s work and, seemingly pleased, returns to coloring.

“Thank you for having us,” Myra says.

“You know you’re all welcome any time,” she says. “Even if it is extremely last minute.”

“Sorry about that, Mrs. Picolli,” Randy says. Despite tormenting Pico with