"Alessandro? I need you."
He followed Lauren’s voice into the kitchen. "What’s up?"
She stood gazing down at Nick, who sat in the middle of the floor,
pots, pans, lids and an assortment of wooden utensils spread out around
him. She didn’t appear happy. "I’ve decided," she announced in a brave
voice. "It’s time."
"I’m almost afraid to ask. Time for what?"
"Nick’s hair has gotten too long." From the way she said it, he’d have
thought it was the worst possible tragedy. "I have to...to—"
"Cut it?" Alessandro suggested, taken aback when she swiveled to glare
at him. "What? What did I say wrong?"
"Don’t you dare make light of this."
"Who’s making light of it?"
"A baby’s first hair cut is a milestone."
"A milestone long overdue, if you want my opinion." Apparently she
didn’t, since her glare grew more fierce, promising serious retribution.
He pitched his voice to soothe. "Honey, you’ll be doing the kid a favor."
She folded her arms across her chest. "A favor."
"Right. He’s supposed to be a boy, but with all those waves and curls
he’s starting to look a bit—" A quick glance at Lauren’s expression had
him backpedaling. Fast. "Not that there’s anything wrong with looking a
bit— But you have to agree. He is a boy."
"Thank you kindly for pointing out the error of my ways." Boy, he hated
when she went seriously Southern on him. Nothing cut worse than words that
sounded sweet enough to rot teeth, while somehow managing to flay a man
alive. "I need scissors if I’m gonna correct my parental incompetence."
She held out her hand as though she expected him to produce them from thin
air.
"Tell you what. You get the scissors. They’re in the medicine chest in
the master bath, and I’ll have a little pep talk with Nick. We’ll be ready
for you as soon as you get back." He didn’t even attempt to argue the
"parental incompetence" part. There wasn’t a chance in hell that could
lead anyplace he wanted to go.
She opened her mouth to argue, but to his everlasting relief she
changed her mind. He didn’t plan to ask how he’d gotten so lucky. The
minute she’d trotted off, Alessandro folded his hands across his chest and
fixed Nick with a man-to-man look. "That was a close one."
Nick indicated his agreement by picking up a wooden spoon in one hand,
and a pot lid in the other. Showing off his eight pearly teeth in a wide
grin, he banged the spoon and lid together, thoroughly pleased with the
clatter he created.
"Okay, little buddy. Listen up. It’s time for another first for you.
This one’s going to be a breeze. Not for your—" His brows drew together in
a frown as he considered how best to finish his sentence. Then his frown
eased. There was only one description that fit. "Not for your momma. This
won’t be anything close to a breeze for her. More like a hurricane, which
means highly destructive and accompanied by a heavy downpour."
"Ma-ma," Nick crowed, banging the lid with even greater enthusiasm.
"Right. I suspect she’ll cry her way through each tiny snip, but don’t
let that scare you. It’s a woman thing. As you get older you’ll find there
are a lot of women things you’ll have to deal with."
Alessandro unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it over a nearby chair.
Stooping next to Nick, he removed the boy’s shirt, as well. "Your best bet
is to hold your peace and let them cry it out. Trying to rationalize tends
to make women mad, as you might have noticed by that stellar example I
just set. You don’t want to do that. And using logic only makes them
madder. You definitely don’t want to do that. Or argue." He
winced. "You’re too young to hear what happens then, but trust me. It’s
very, very bad."
"Ma-ma." Nick crashed the wooden spoon against the pots and pans.
"Ma-ma. Ma-ma. Ma-ma."
Alessandro whistled softly. "I gotta hand it to you, buddy. Once you
finally learn a word you stick with it."
Leaving Nick to his Ringo Starr imitation, Alessandro rummaged through
the recycle bin by the backdoor and pulled out a layer of newspapers. He
spread them in a broad circle on the kitchen floor. "Okay, Nick. Now
remember what I told you," he instructed. "No fussing. It’ll give your
momma the perfect excuse to never cut your hair again. And we can’t have
that. Don’t get me wrong. I like the opposite sex just fine, but we don’t
need to look like them. A man should look like a man."
Setting a chair in the middle of the papers, he continued his lecture.
"Also... While fussing is a no-no, so’s grinning. Try not to act too
happy. No point rubbing in the fact that she should have done this months
ago and you’re pleased as punch that she’s finally gotten around to it.
Are we clear about how to handle this?"
Nick stared with such an intent expression, Alessandro could have sworn
he understood every word. Unable to explain what drove him, he held out
his arms. Nick used the leg of the chair to lever himself upward and then
he threw himself into the embrace. He carried a scent unlike anything
Alessandro had ever smelled before—fortunately, not that of a dirty
diaper. He’d had close and personal contact with that particular odor over
the past few days. A little too close and personal for comfort.
No, this was entirely different. A unique fragrance filled Alessandro’s
nostrils, something fresh and young and earthy. Something distinctive.
Something he hadn’t taken the time or opportunity to register before,
perhaps because he’d been so careful to hold himself at a safe distance,
reluctant to establish any sort of intimate contact. But he wasn’t safe
any longer and Nick’s scent flooded his senses, changing his perception of
the boy.
It was almost as though he’d imprinted Nick’s essence on some primal
level, claiming it as his own.
This was his son.
Promotion