Page 53 of Vincent
His sister nodded.
"Then she was a damn fool." He was getting angry all over again, and that would not do. Not with his son in the same room. David was a highly sensitive child and always knew when something was wrong. "I don't want to discuss this anymore." He forced a smile to his lips when his son came racing over.
"Daddy, guess what?" Jumping into his father's arms and confident of being caught, he sat on his lap.
"What?"
"Grams and Auntie Jack are taking me to the zoo and then the museum."
Vincent's brows winged up as he wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders.
"Is that so?"
His son nodded enthusiastically. "Is it okay if I stay? Please?"
"Deserting your old man?"
"Huh?" David wrinkled his brows. "You're not very old. At least not like Grams or even my other grandparents. They're really old," he added in a stage whisper.
"Thanks a lot," Viola said dryly as she came over to pluck him from his dad. "Now let's go get you cleaned up." She was also very sensitive to her son's moods and realized he needed time alone or with the woman he was so confused about. "We'll drop him off Sunday night."
"Thanks, Mother."
Leaning down, she pecked him on the cheek. "Get some rest, you look tired," she advised.
"Thanks for that. I was thinking of taking the boat out."
Jacklyn squeezed his hand before getting to her feet.
"You might want to get in touch with a certain someone."
"No." He shook his head decisively. "I'm not ready."
"Vincent-"
"Please, just drop it." Ruffling his son's unruly hair, he left the room with a wave.
"Stubborn idiot," Jacklyn muttered.
"He'll come around," his mother assured her. "In the meantime, let's get this party started."
*****
She was second-guessing herself and wondering if this had been such a good idea after all. She had made the commitment two weeks ago and had been looking forward to it. Now she was not so sure. She was feeling decidedly low in spirit and was sick to the stomach. She estimated that she was about four weeks pregnant. As soon as the holiday rush was off, she was going to get an official confirmation. But without checking with a doctor, she knew it was a foregone conclusion.
She hadn't heard from him, and she could not and would not drum up the courage to call him. He was the one who had saidsome awful things to her and stormed out. He had to be the one to come back and apologize. She would just settle for him coming back.
He was pissed that she had never told him how she felt about him. Then so what? He could have said something too. Sighing, she walked over to a white tent where several delicacies were displayed.
It was a baking tournament. They had them in Europe, and it had started to take over in the States. It was where pastry chefs or just local bakeries gathered to display their talents and drum up business.
She had sampled some not too bad pastries and some not fit to be consumed. One woman had a very doughy soda bread that had needed to be proofed for several more minutes. Some people should never set foot inside a kitchen.
But now she was done. She was tired, listless, and hormonal. At one point she had almost broken down in tears when someone bumped into her, spilling her drink. And another minute, she had felt like snarling at a woman whose dog's leash tangled around her ankles. She was an animal lover, but this was too much.
Who the hell takes dogs to a pastry show? She had had enough. And it was too late to drive all the way back home. She had had the common sense to book a room at an inn. A hot bath and some tea and straight to bed.
*****
