Her Little Secret

“I don’t blame you. I didn’t treat Hope right and I’m sorry.”

“She deserves better, and so do I.”

Before, he’d have handled her with kid gloves. She’d been hurt, inside and out, and he couldn’t hurt her more.

“Cassie.” If he gave in, he’d lose any chance of finding out if they could still love each other. “I don’t want to hurt that kid, but she reminds me of—” He couldn’t say her father. If he did, he’d never look the child in the eye again. “She reminds me of what happened. Give me a chance to live with it.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not coming back here. You and I have been divorced for almost five years. We’re over.”

“Your father is extremely ill. You won’t throw him into some nursing facility and run away.”

“I will,” she said through what sounded like gritted teeth.

“I know you.”

“You’re living in a crazy dream. You need treatment as much as my father.”

“You might be right, but I’ve never said goodbye to you. I don’t want to give up.”

“On what? On nothing. It’s been nothing since the night I left here.”

“Do you think I’m proud of feeling this way? I’m a man. I don’t want to run after a woman who couldn’t be more clear about not wanting to be with me. But I think you were lying five years ago about not wanting us in your life, because you were afraid for your child. I have to know if we can still care for each other.” He tapped his fist against the steering wheel. “Don’t make me talk about feelings, Cassie. And don’t make me beg.”

Her silence stretched so long he pulled the phone away from his ear to see if the signal had faded or she’d hung up.

“Mommy,” said a small voice on Cassie’s side of the connection, “I’m really hungry.”

“So I’ll be back,” Van said. “With dinner for both of you.”

“For all of us?” Cassie asked.

He stiffened. “Are you inviting me or preparing yourself?”

She took a deep breath, but he was holding his. “Maybe a little of both.”

“That’s a start,” he said. “I’ll be back.” He hung up before she could change her mind.

She might be right. What kind of man held on to a woman who’d turned her back on him in the most final of divorce decrees five years ago?

But she’d kept information to herself then. She’d been pregnant. With a rapist’s child, but she’d been his wife and she’d been carrying a child. He’d loved her. He’d had a right to know—or to tell her he couldn’t face it.

He wasn’t sure he could face it now.

He pulled away from the curb, not letting thoughts of Hope reignite his old anger. She was a child, not someone to blame.

And he was through giving up on everything that had mattered because Cassie didn’t believe in him. It was his turn to take charge.

For the first time in a long time, he felt a little hope.

He drove to the town’s new overpriced luxury market, parking next door at the Honesty Sentinel because everyone who wanted to see and be seen had already taken all the open spots at Posh Victuals.

The second he hit the aromatic air inside, his stomach muttered with guttural hunger. He flattened his hand against his belly, but in the Babel of dinnertime shopping, no one else noticed.

He waited in line at the Poshly Prepared Pasta counter. A high school girl, wearing a checkered napkin folded artfully into a cap, finally got through the three customers before him.

“What may I feed you, sir?”

As if she were wearing a toga and offering grapes. “What do you have that will make a four-year-old girl happy?”

“Huh?” She glanced around the counters as if seeking help. No one materialized.

“I have a friend who’s just arrived in town with her four-year-old daughter, and they haven’t eaten. I’d like to take them some dinner.”

Lowering her voice, she leaned toward him. “I’m supposed to talk you into buying the more expensive stuff, but take the spaghetti. Kids always like spaghetti. I have a little brother, and he can’t get enough of the stuff we make here.”

“Perfect. Pack it up.”

“Just for the girl? Would you like a whole dinner? Or a child’s spaghetti?”

“Dinner for three.”

“Okeydoke.”

“Do you have a meatless sauce?”

She nodded.

“I’d better take two orders of that.” Cassie hadn’t eaten meat for years before she’d left, and she might have persuaded her daughter to eat the same crazy way.

With deft hands, the girl packed a meal in takeout cartons. Pasta, a container of sauce, a larger one without meat, and garlic bread, so rich with spicy scents his stomach grumbled again. Louder.

The girl must have heard. Her mouth twitched, but she was too polite to mention it.

She added vegetable antipasto, a tossed salad and two containers of tiramisu. He stopped her in time to ask for crème brûlée for Cassie.

“Just warm everything up. If you boil the pasta for two minutes, it’ll be better than new.” She leaned in again. “I add olive oil to the water. Amazing.”

“Thanks.” He found her badge beneath a wavy ponytail. “Rita.”

“My pleasure. Here’s hoping your friends enjoy.”

His friend had probably changed her mind about letting him in—and changed the locks.

Back at Leo’s house, he parked in the driveway behind Cassie’s rental and carried their dinner to the front door, tapping the newly painted porch with his fingertips to make sure it was dry. He rang the bell and then waved the bags in front of the wood to spread the delicious aromas. That market might have a froufrou name, but their cooking smelled great.

Nothing happened on the other side of the Warne door. He backed up and looked around one of the porch stanchions, but the blinds remained shut tight. If the lights were on, not one sliver of illumination leaked through.

He rang the bell again. Would she really change her mind? Could she lock him out of her life again?