Page 38 of My Weakness

“I know you and Ava don’t always get along.”We were getting on just fine an hour ago when she was spread out on my desk, the very desk you’re currently leaning against.

“But I want you to know that I see you as family. I know you don’t need a father; you were twenty-four when you walked into our lives, but I still see you as my son, and I’m incredibly proud of you, River. Incredibly proud.”

His timing couldn’t be worse. I’ve just gone down on his daughter, her panties are currently stuffed in my pocket, and I’m quite sure her scent is still all over me. Right now, him calling me his son is like I’m stabbing him in the back. I’m quite sure he’d hate me if he knew. It’s something I’m prepared for — itwill hurt, probably more than I thought if today’s conversation is anything to go by, but there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s worth it.

She’s worth everything.

***

River: Where are we staying tonight?

Ava: Does it need to be together?

River: What do you think?

Ava: I think you won’t leave me alone

River: You’re learning

River: If you come to mine, I’ll cook for you. Italian

Ava: Meet you there in thirty?

River: See you soon, pipsqueak, and pack for the weekend. Once you’re in my bed I’m not letting you out

Ava: Make it thirty-five. I’ll need to buy cranberry juice on the way

I laugh out loud as her last message comes through to me, and a few people look my way in the grocery store. I’m buying the ingredients for my Nonna’s meatballs. Tonight, I’m pulling out the big guns.

***

“Can I help at all?” Ava sits on a stool at the breakfast island watching me while I chop some herbs.

“I’ve got it covered; you just sit there and relax.”

“I feel useless. Don’t get me wrong, the view is nice” — she smirks at me — “but I feel I should be doing something.”

I’m still in my suit pants and shirt, my jacket discarded and my sleeves rolled up. I’ve learned that my girl has a thing for forearms, she’s not taken her eyes off them while I’ve been preparing dinner.

“How about you open a bottle of wine and pour us both a glass?” She hops off her stool and wanders over to my wine rack.

“Red okay with you?”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

“Hmm, I like all of these,” she muses.

You should, they’re all your favorites.

“You have a very good wine selection,” she quips, looking through the drawers for a corkscrew.

“That one there,” I say pointing to the drawer that she needs.

“Is it a coincidence that every bottle is one of my favorites?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.”