was clean, not a single dirty bowl or plate in sight, and the dining table had been polished to a shine. True, a small stack of neatly folded washing sat at one end, but it looked like a temporary measure this time rather than a permanent fixture. The living room had been cleared of stray books and magazines and abandoned clothes, the cushions on the couch plumped.
Most important, the blinds had been raised, inviting the weak winter sunshine into the house.
She forgot all about her uncomfortable awareness as her gaze met Michael’s.
“Look at you go,” she said quietly.
He shrugged, but she could tell he was pleased she’d noticed the difference. “Getting there.”
It wasn’t only his hair that was different, she realized. His eyes were different, too. Brighter, clearer, more focused. As though he’d ceased looking inward and was ready to engage with the world again.
“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s get this show on the road,” Eva announced as she marched into the room.
She was dressed in a pair of yellow cowboy boots, a bright blue skirt and a poppy-red sweater. Her blond hair had been pulled into two lopsided pigtails and fastened with yellow-and-white polka dot ribbons, and a grass-green handbag hung from her shoulder.
Her mother’s daughter, from top to toe.
“You look like a summer’s day,” Angie said, opening her arms for a hug.
Eva walked into her embrace, resting her head beneath Angie’s breasts.
“I feel like a summer’s day. We’re going shopping.”
Michael smiled ruefully. “Words to make any man quake in his shoes.” He picked up his wallet. “How much money do you need?”
“I have my own money, thank you very much.” Eva pulled an elephant-shaped wallet from her handbag and displayed the two five-dollar bills resting within.
“Not bad, money bags. How about I give Auntie Angie a little extra in case you ladies find something nice that catches your eye?”
Angie shook her head as he offered her two crisp fifties. “I’ve got it covered.”
“You’re doing enough already.”
Before she could protest again, he closed the distance between them and tucked the bills into her coat pocket. She caught another whiff of his deodorant and a faint hint of clean, male sweat.
She cleared her throat. “Well. We should probably get going, little lady. Don’t want to miss out on all the bargains.”
Eva kissed her father goodbye and Angie told him they would be back by five and hustled out the door. She didn’t feel one hundred percent comfortable until she was sliding into the driver’s seat.
Which was dumb. Michael was still Michael, even if he did have an attractive body and a handsome face. Just because she’d suddenly tuned into that fact for a few seconds didn’t change anything.
“Weirdo,” she muttered under her breath.
“Sorry?” Eva said, her face puzzled.
“Nothing, sweetheart.”
And it was nothing. A stupid, odd little moment of awareness that meant nothing to anybody. Shaking it off, she started the car and pulled away from the curb.
* * *
MICHAEL SHOWERED AFTER Angie and Eva had left, taking advantage of the fact that Charlie was enjoying a rare afternoon nap. His legs ached from the run he’d taken after lunch while his neighbor, Mrs. Linton, watched the kids, but for the first time in a long time his body felt loose and easy.
He soaped himself down and allowed himself to enjoy the simple pleasure of warm water and well-used muscles. His thoughts drifted to the afternoon. The odds were good that Charlie would be awake any second now. Maybe they could go to the park. Charlie could run around to his heart’s content and afterward Michael might take a look at the plans Dane had sent over last night.
Michael was still feeling his way toward the whole going-back-to-work thing. He’d spoken to a nanny agency and they were lining up interviews for him for next week and Mrs. Linton had offered to help in the interim, but a part of him was holding back for some reason, not quite ready to commit to the complete resumption of his life. It was one thing to get a haircut and clean the house. It was another thing entirely to draw a line under the past few months and let the world in again.
Dane had clearly taken his imminent return as a given, however—Michael had checked his email last night and found a sizable file waiting for him, complete with brief and draft plans for a luxury beach house the firm had been commissioned to design. One of many projects, apparently, that his fellow partners were happy to hand over the moment Michael returned.
After dressing in jeans and a T-shirt and hooded sweatshirt, he took Charlie to the local park where they swung and climbed and played peekaboo endlessly. There were a couple of other parents hanging around with their kids, one of whom he recognized as a member of Billie’s mothers’ group. He chatted to her politely for a few minutes before Charlie once again demanded his attention. He walked away feeling woefully rusty at the whole small-talk thing.
Later, he was folding the last of the washing when he heard the door open and the sound of Eva’s footsteps pounding along the hall.
“We got the bestest present ever,” she announced as she burst into the kitchen. She held what looked like a set of butterfly wings.
“Wow. They look pretty cool,” he said as Angie followed Eva.
“We had trouble deciding between fairy and butterfly wings. So we got both.” Angie brandished her own shopping bag. “Eva’s going to decide which ones she thinks Imogen would prefer.” Angie’s deep blue eyes were shining with laughter. They both knew that Eva’s choice would be more about which pair of wings she didn’t want.
“Sounds like your mission was achieved.”
“We had a great time. Auntie Angie took me to get my nails done, and we had coffee and bisgotty.”
“Biscotti,” Angie said easily. “Which is a fancy-pants way of saying biscuit in Italian.”
“Biscotti. Bis-cotti,” Eva repeated to herself.
Michael didn’t even try to hide his smile this time, and neither did Angie. He met her gaze again.
“Stay for dinner?”
“Sure. If you’ve got enough to go around.”
“It’s nothing fancy, just pasta. And there’s always enough pasta.”
“No,” Eva groaned. “We always have spaghetti.”
“I think you might be exaggerating a little there, sweetheart.”
“We had it last night, and Wednesday night, and Monday night.”
Michael frowned, ready to correct her. Then he realized she was right. “Those were all different pastas.” He sounded lame, even to himself. The truth was, he was a competent cook, but not a very imaginative one.
“Have you made anything yet?” Angie asked.
“No. I was about to start on the sauce. Which will be different from the other sauces we had during the week,” he said for Eva’s benefit.
She gave him a skeptical look, as well she might. There was only so much a man could do with tomatoes, onion and ground meat.
“If you want to take a break from the kitchen for the night, I could make us Mexican. I picked up a few groceries while we were out so I’ve got a taco kit and the makings for a salad in the car,” Angie said.
“Yes!” Eva jumped up and down on the spot, hands in the air.
“Mexican it is, then,” Angie said.
The