think it’s because of the fruit.”

“Oh! Fruit is so good for you,” Mom piped up. “Tons of antioxidants!”

Galigani nodded, then turned to me. “Why don’t you have a seat, Kate?”

I willed my feet to move forward.

How awkward. If Mom and Galigani were on a date, what the hell were Jim, Laurie, and I doing here?

I sank into the high-back chair next to the coffee table. Laurie squirmed in my arms then cried out. I don’t know how babies detect when you’re sitting or standing, but some alarm must sound as soon as you decide to take a load off.

Mom took Laurie out of my arms. “Have some wine, dear.”

She began her elaborate “putting the baby to sleep” dance, which included some deep knee bends, tippy-toe rocking, hip sways, and a scary swooping motion as the grand finale. The entire dance bordered on the ridiculous, except for the fact that it worked. Always.

Galigani watched my mother with an expression somewhere between confusion and awe.

I grabbed my wineglass and drank deeply. A little more than I meant to because the wine burned going down and I almost gagged. I watched Jim shovel some salami into his mouth.

“So, what were you calling about earlier, Kate?”

“Uh . . .” I was happy to have my mind engaged on something other than Mom’s dating life and yet words evaded me.

“She’s got a gig as a PI,” Jim said, crunching on a marinated pepper.

I shook my head. “Ummm. Yeah. Well, sort of. I don’t know that you’d call it a gig—”

Jim opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. “Whew! Hot pepper. Love it!” He grabbed his glass of wine. “Lady wants to hire Kate.”

Galigani smiled at me. “Only you don’t have a license.”

“Well, Albert, you have one, right?” Mom chimed in.

Galigani frowned “Yes, I do.”

Talk about awkward. Not only had I unknowingly stepped in on some date, but now Mom and Jim were trying to negotiate my business dealings.

Mom tsked. “Poor woman! Murdered on a dinner cruise. And her little ones, left behind. What a tragedy!”

I took another swig of wine. This time smaller, more sip-like. This was more like it. The Chianti tasted fruity and smooth. “Oh. The victim wasn’t a mom.”

Galigani and Mom stared at me.

“What do you mean?” Mom asked. “I thought she was running that mommy group you were joining.”

“She was but she didn’t have any children,” I said.

Mom frowned. “What on earth was a woman without kids doing in a mothers’ group?”

Dinner turned out to be fabulous. Galigani served fettuccini with a light garlic cream sauce that he claimed had been approved by his cardiologist. We debated back and forth about a woman we didn’t know and the potential motivation to be involved in a mommy group when you weren’t one.

We came up with a pretty paltry list.

We drank wine and laughed a lot, and thankfully Laurie snoozed in the middle of Galigani’s king-size bed, surrounded by giant pillows to prevent her from falling off. No one seemed to care that Laurie, at only seven weeks, still could not roll over. Somehow, the possibility of her falling off the bed still loomed.

After dinner while getting our coats, I finally summoned my courage. “So, um . . . Galigani, what do you think about my using your license?”

Galigani looked confused. “What do you mean, licenses aren’t transferable.”

“But I could work under yours, right? Like working for you?”

“No. I’m sorry. I’d have to supervise you, and right now I just don’t have the energy for that. Not so soon after my surgery anyway.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Protection

To Do:

1. Call Margaret and give her directions to café.

2. Prep contract for her.

3. Figure out how to land her without license.

4. Buy baby keepsake book.

5. Stretch out lower back.

6. Look up postpartum yoga classes.

I snuggled Laurie into the baby carrier and walked down the street toward the café where Margaret and I had agreed to meet.

As I passed my neighbor’s house, their seventeen-year-old son, Kenny, was leaping down the front steps.

“Kate! Let me see the baby!”

Kenny had spiky hair that was dyed green. He’d graduated from the School of the Arts a few months prior and was now auditioning like crazy with his trombone.

I folded down the flap on the baby carrier and let Kenny take a peek.

He peered over the carrier. “She looks exactly like Jim, but she’s cute.”

“Jim’s cute, too.”

“Only to you, Kate.”

I laughed.

“Whenever you need a babysitter, just let me know,” Kenny said.

“Right. When was the last time you washed your hands, Kenny?”

He looked at