Home At Last. Deborah Raney

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СКАЧАТЬ they had a routine a lot like his sisters’ kids—brushing teeth, reading stories, saying prayers. He had to keep reminding himself that Portia wasn’t Shayla’s daughter.

      He heard one last round of goodnights, then saw the light at the top of the stairway click off, and Shayla came trotting down the stairs.

      “Whew. She’s down.” She slumped into the chair across from him. “You want something to eat?”

      He patted his belly. “No way. I’m still stuffed.” They’d gone for burgers at Culver’s after the movie and he’d overdone it with a large chocolate shake.

      “Something to drink? Coffee?”

      “Maybe some water.”

      “Sure.” She scooted the chair back and went to the sink behind the pastry counter.

      “Thanks,” he said, when she set glasses of ice water on the table. “Hey, I’m sorry about that jerk at the theater.”

      She shook her head. “There’s one born every minute. You learn to ignore them.”

      “Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe you ought to let him have it.”

      “Oh, yeah. That would go over real well.”

      “Because you’re a girl?” Or because you’re a black girl? The question hung between them, unspoken.

      Shayla answered it anyway. “Not just because I’m a girl. Besides, how would that help Portia if I’m always walking around with a big ol’ chip on my shoulder? She doesn’t need to go through her whole life expecting the worst of people.”

      “Even when people are at their worst?”

      “Those kind of people don’t deserve one moment of my attention or emotion. And for sure not a moment of Portia’s. There’re always going to be people like that in the world. Doesn’t mean we have to let them ruin ours.”

      “Well, you’re a bigger man than I am.”

      “Excuse me?”

      He grinned. “You know what I mean. Anyway, despite that yellow-headed idiot, I had fun tonight.”

      She nodded. “Me too. And thank you. For including Portia.”

      He shook his head. “She’s a character.”

      Shayla giggled. “That’s one way to put it.”

      “Do you know . . . how long you’ll have her?” As soon as the words were out, he knew it sounded like he was trying to gauge when Shayla would be rid of the “brat.” He hadn’t meant it like that at all. “You said her parents aren’t in the picture? You mean . . . like ever?”

      She took a long drink of water. “I don’t know about ever but not for a long time.” She eyed him, as if she were trying to decide whether she could trust him. “My brother’s in jail. Prison. Eight years before he’ll be eligible for parole. Drugs. He’s not exactly father material. At least not now.”

      “I’m sorry. That’s got to be hard.”

      She shrugged. “It is what it is.”

      “What about Portia’s mother?”

      “She passed away.”

      “Really?” Link knew his face showed his shock, but he was curious why Shayla hadn’t said anything before. That seemed like the kind of thing you didn’t just forget to mention. “I’m so sorry. That’s got to be tough. Portia seems really . . . well-adjusted. I wouldn’t have expected that.” He felt like he was saying all the wrong things.

      But Shayla didn’t blanch. “Daddy and I have tried to keep things stable in her life.”

      “Of course. I didn’t mean—”

      She waved him off. “I know. It’s an awkward situation. People don’t know what to say.”

      “It’s not that.” He hesitated and hoped he’d managed to look sheepish. “Well, I guess it is that.” He held up a hand. “I’m really not meaning to be nosy. I just wondered.”

      “She’s probably going to be part of our lives—my dad’s and mine—for a long time. I don’t blame you if that scares you off. You wouldn’t be the first.”

      Did it scare him? If he was honest, yes. A little. He’d had enough experience with nieces and nephews that he wasn’t uncomfortable around kids. He wanted kids of his own someday. He hadn’t really considered that he might get them “ready-made.” He released a sigh. “I’m still thinking about that, I guess. Just trying to be honest.”

      “I get that.”

      Except he wanted to ask her out again. He knew that. “Do I have to decide before you’ll go out with me again? I’d really like to ask you out again.” He was diving into the deep end. Sink or swim.

      She tilted her head in that winsome way she had. “I don’t suppose you’d be content to just be a friend for a while?”

      “Is this your way of saying you like me but . . . not in that way?” The disappointment hurt more than he expected.

      But her smile gave him quick relief. “No. I’m not saying that. I’m saying—” She pushed her chair back from the table and grabbed a bar rag from the bakery counter. She rubbed it in circles on the table until Link thought the finish might come off. Finally, she straightened and looked at him hard, a nervous half-grin on her lips. “Why are we having this conversation? Tonight was only our first date. Can’t we just take it one step at a time?”

      He shrugged. “Hey, that’s all I’m asking for—the next step. Will you go out with me next week?”

      She scrubbed the table with a vengeance. “Let me see if I can find a sitter for Portia. Are you thinking Sunday night again?”

      “You can bring her if you want.”

      “You don’t understand. If we take her out with us again”—she motioned between them—“then it’s a ‘thing’ with her. And if we never see you again after that . . .”

      “Okay. I get that. You’ll let me know? If you can get a sitter?”

      “Can I text you?”

      He shrugged. “Sure. You have my number?”

      She nodded.

      He rose. “How about next Saturday night? Does that work for you?”

      “Unless you want to do breakfast. Like really early breakfast.”

      “Saturday?”

      “Any day.”

      He grinned. “I figured you got free breakfast here.” He eyed the case of pastries. “Man, if I lived here, I’d never eat anywhere else.”

      “Yeah, and you’d weigh СКАЧАТЬ