I tap my bottom lip with my fork, eyeing her for a few seconds, holding back the full shit-eating grin I can’t seem to control.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, forcing myself to return my focus to my food. It’s hard to do because I love staring at her, waiting for her next look, her next smile, her next words.
We finish dinner and popsicles with Roman interrupting all attempts at conversation. Dorothy entertains his every murmur with enthusiasm. I expect nothing less from the woman who wears a bib for dinner.
“Little man, you can watch one show while I clean up the kitchen and talk with Dorothy.”
“Kratts! Dorfee, wanna watch Kratts?” Roman squirms as I wipe his face.
“Sure.” She grins while removing her bib.
“You don’t have to watch—”
“I love the Kratt Brothers. Show me the way, little Romeo.” She follows Roman as he runs to the living room.
“The remote is complicated. I’ll be in to turn it on in a—” Before I finish, the Kratts are already playing.
“I know my way around a remote, Dr. Hawkins.”
I nod, stealing a few more seconds to just … look at her. “Dorothy Mayhem …” I whisper on a content sigh as I collect the dirty dishes from the table.
Thirty minutes and one Kratt Brothers episode later, the kitchen is clean and Roman is ready for bed.
“Goodnight, Dorfee.” Roman yawns as I scoop him up and carry him up the stairs.
“Night, Romeo.”
“Dorfee has super pow-wows.” Roman’s smile beams, much like mine.
“Super powers? Really?” I tuck him under his covers.
“Yes! She can see my bones!”
“X-ray vision?”
Roman nods.
“That’s pretty cool.” I kiss all over his face until he giggles. “Night, buddy. I love you to the moon.”
“Night, Daddy.” He yawns again.
“Bye, Dr. Hawkins! Thanks for dinner,” Dorothy calls before I even get out of Roman’s bedroom.
Bye?
I run down the stairs, catching her just as she slips on her white shoes. “Whoa, wait! Leaving already?”
“Yeah. Did you need something else?”
Yes. I need more than five minutes alone with her that doesn’t involve cooking or Roman interrupting.
“We never discussed your emus.” I slip my hands into the front pockets of my jeans and lean against the cherry banister.
“Oh. Yeah.” She rests her hand on the front door handle, ready for a quick getaway as soon as the emus are explained.
What is it with women desperately trying to run away from me?
“The previous homeowner had the emus. I was actually there looking at the property the day they hatched. I mentioned how much I like emus … you know, since they’re basically little dinosaurs. So he let me name them. And the next thing I knew, papers were signed, and he moved out. My parents and I arrived with a moving truck, and the two emus were still there. A gift from the previous owner. When I tried to contact him to say I couldn’t accept the gift—for obvious reasons—he never returned my calls.”
“Wow. And I thought I scored when Julie and I rented an apartment just after we graduated from med school and the previous owner left an expensive leather sofa.”
“I bet the sofa cost less money to maintain than Orville and Wilbur.”
“Probably.” I laugh.
“Welp, now you know.” She opens the front door.
“Dorothy?”
“Yeah?”
I push off the banister and erase half the distance between us. Not enough to invade her space, but enough to grab her if she tries to leave. Yes, I realize how creepy that sounds. But it’s exactly what I think. She makes me feel like a child really wanting something, torn up with anxiety at the thought of not getting it … of leaving the store without it.
“I really enjoyed you being here for dinner.”
“Oh …” She nods a half dozen times. “Yeah, Roman is great. I think we got along perfectly. I’d be happy to babysit him anytime it works into my schedule.”
“Yes. Or maybe you could just come over again and have dinner with us? Or we could grab ice cream some evening. Take a hike. Go to a park.” Ask my mom to watch Roman. Make out on my sofa.
Sex deprived pervert!
“Um …” She scrapes her teeth along her lower lip and nods slowly. “Sure. You can never be too safe. I get it. You’d like me to spend a bit more time with him while you supervise.”
Breaking news … Elijah Hawkins scores an F in asking a woman out on a proper date. Why am I using Roman as a crutch? He should be my wingman. I should have him say something to Dorothy that is super sweet and impossible to resist. Like … “Dorfee, my dad is awesome. You should go to dinner with him.”
Too pathetic?
“Welp, goodnight!”
I don’t even get “goodnight” out before she makes it halfway to her car.
“Smooth … real smooth.” I close the door and thump my forehead against it several times.