Page 35 of Reluctant to Love

17

Eleanor

The first question out of my mouth when I step inside Roderick’s home in downtown Brooklyn is, “Just how much money have you made with your Tristan books?”

He smiles uncomfortably. “Enough,” is all he says.

I’m not about to press for more information. We haven’t exactly discussed finances and it’s not really a conversation I want to have. Living with my mom has saved me a ton of money and allowed me to go back to school part-time. But my job taking on various ghostwriting gigs doesn’t bring in a lot of money.

“It’s a work in progress,” he says as we make our way through the space. “It used to be a fire station in the ‘30s.”

I take in all of the natural sunlight pouring in from the abundance of windows. It warms up the brick walls and light hardwood floors. It’s clear there are still renovations needing completion because the kitchen still looks fairly industrial, but it could very well be a cozy, beautiful home where Izzy could grow up.

“It’s lovely,” I breathe out.

Roderick grabs my hand and brings it up to his lips. He brushes soft kisses along my knuckles and smiles. “There are lots of parks close by for you and Izzy to explore.”

“I’m sure we’ll have fun doing that.”

“I’m sorry but I have to meet with my lawyer today. Will you and Izzy be fine on your own?”

“Of course.”

He kisses my forehead and looks down at me. “I want this to be your home too. Go and explore. Do whatever you need. Just don’t get lost.”

When we’re alone, Izzy and I snoop through the house. It’s clear Roderick is a bachelor who lives alone as most of the space is empty. One week with an almost four-year-old in the house will solve that. It’s only a matter of time before he steps on one of her toys and howls with pain.

After we’ve explored the house, we head outside. When we were driving in, I saw a playground just down the block and that’s where we head. Izzy climbs all over the green and yellow structure, zooming down the slide with sweet giggles over and over until eventually, she falls right off the edge and onto her behind which results in a stream of fat tears. I pick her up and kiss her wet cheeks knowing she’s tired after a long day.

Izzy and I return to the loft and we find refuge in the master bedroom. The late afternoon sunlight streams into the room, warming it up. There’s a massive upholstered king-size bed against one wall and the moment I place Izzy on top of the cushy mattress, she falls asleep almost instantly.

There’s a small sitting area in the room with a loveseat and a television mounted to the wall. I curl up there with my laptop and try to read through the contract Caroline sent me from the publisher. It reads like nonsense to me. When Roderick comes back, I’ll ask him for help. I glance over at my little sleeping angel and realize a nap doesn’t sound so bad. All of my ghostwriting projects are finished and for once, I really have nothing to do. I place my laptop on the coffee table in front of the loveseat and shuffle to the bed. Just like my daughter, I’m asleep as soon as I sink into the soft mattress.

When I wake up, the bedroom is considerably darker, and Izzy is missing. For a moment, I panic until I hear her voice mingled with the murmur of Roderick’s voice. I shuffle off the bed and wander into the main living space of the loft.

It’s renovated too, just like the master bedroom. There’s a traditional two-piece sofa and loveseat in front of a massive entertainment unit. Izzy and Roderick look thick as thieves on the couch, whispering and laughing like life-long best friends.

“You two look cozy,” I say, entering the room. I run my hand along the curved back of the couch and sit down on the loveseat.

“We were just having a chat about princesses,” Roderick says with a happy smile.

“Mama, Roddick says you a pwincess,” Izzy exclaims.

“Of course I am,” I reply with a wink. “And so are you!”

When Izzy’s tummy growls loudly and then mine echoes it, we all laugh. “I guess my two princesses are hungry! What do you want for dinner?”

“Chicken nuggets!”

“I’ll grab some takeout menus and see what’s available.” Roderick gets up from the couch and makes his way over to me. He leans down slightly, as if to kiss me, but I hold up a hand.

“It’ll only confuse her,” I whisper.

He growls in response. “Fine. But there’s something I need to talk to you about. It’s important.”

His words are soon lost and forgotten as we fight over what to order and as Roderick navigates Izzy’s first real tantrum. When he begs for mercy and pleads for help, I hold up my hands and say, “Hey, parenting isn’t easy. Get used to it.”

I love the way he tries to reason with her, explaining that chicken strips are just like chicken nuggets only bigger. But my little girl is smarter than that and refuses to budge.