Page 14 of The Boss Upstairs
“So…” I venture. “Those are your kids?” I ask in an attempt at small talk.
He smiles and stares at the framed photo on his desk. “Yes, that’s Ashton and Elizabeth.”
“They’re beautiful,” I tell him, and I’m not just being polite. They truly are stunning, especially his girl.
“How old is your boy again?” he asks.
I sit up straighter. “He’s two.” I spot a photo on the bookshelf just behind him, a beautiful blonde woman with her arms around Ashton and Elizabeth. “Is that your wife?” I ask before I have a chance to catch myself. It’s really none of my business.
He swivels his chair, and studies the photo. “Ex-wife,” he clarifies. “As I mentioned before, she and I parted ways a few years ago.”
I nod quietly. “Yes… I’m so sorry.” The words sound trite, but it’s the thing to say.
He turns back to me. “And you are a widow,” he says. “Do you find that challenging?”
I’m taken aback by his directness. “Uh…”
“I’m sorry,” he’s quick to say. “I just… I’m curious. It must be difficult for you.”
I stare at his desk, at the walls, at the small gold seahorse statue sitting on his bookshelf, nestled amongst his books. “Yes, it’s tough,” I admit. “But it also has its moments. I love him to pieces.”
“Of course.” His smile fades. “I’m so sorry, Gretchen. I shouldn’t have been so curious.”
“No, it’s fine,” I insist. “I get these kinds of questions a lot. People are fasciated by single moms, I guess.”
“I can imagine.”
“I’m not sure if ‘single mom’ is the right term for me,” I go on. “I suppose widow would be more accurate.”
“Well, they are both difficult, I imagine.”
You have no idea, Mr. Hanson.
A soft smile stretches across his beautiful face. “For some reason, the term ‘widow’ conjures up a certain image in my mind, an image very unlike you.”
“Yes,” I say. “I suppose I’m a young widow.”
“How are you faring?” he asks. “Do you have help?”
I smile. “Thankfully, I have the resources for daycare. And I also have my mother-in-law… she’s wonderful. And my mom helps occasionally, but she’s a bit of a flake. I can’t rely on her too much. She’s very unpredictable,” I blabber on. “Last week I asked her if she could sit for a few hours, and she couldn’t because she was getting her hair dyed. The next day, she shows up at my place with blue hair.”
He laughs, a barely-there chuckle.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I’m babbling. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my mom.”
“On the contrary,” he says, all smiles. “You’ve captured my attention.”
I feel a sudden twinge at the pit of my stomach. I’m not sure if it’s his smile, or the way he’s looking at me.
“It must be hereditary then,” he says, “the blue hair.”
I reach for my bun. “Damn, I was hoping you wouldn’t have noticed.”
He smiles again, a leisurely grin, and I have the urge to bite my lip. “I notice everything.” His words are soft and slow. “I’m very observant.”
I bite my lip. I just can’t help it. “Uh… good to know.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t approve of your blue hair?”
