“Aunt Sadie already let me.”
He jerks his head up. “Excuse me?”
“B-e-e-ll,” Sadie says. “Are you physically incapable of keeping secrets?”
Bell nods, smiling at me. “Families don’t keep secrets. That’s what my dad says.”
Andrew sighs. “Christ.”
I look from Bell to Andrew and Sadie, who seemed to be locked in some kind of stare down. “Did you hear that?” Sadie asks. “Family doesn’t keep secrets.”
“I heard. And you promised you’d keep that shit away from her.”
“Come on—she’s a girl,” Sadie says. “She’s curious about these things. We played dress up around the apartment.”
“She’s not even seven,” he argues.
Sadie butters a piece of bread, shrugging. “You keep it from her, and she’ll just want it more.”
Sensing Andrew’s irritation, I address Bell. “Your aunt and I try to get women to want makeup and clothing from our clients,” I say, “but you want to hear a secret?”
Bell leans her forearms onto the table, mirroring my posture. “Yes. I’m very good with secrets.”
“It’s mostly bullsh—” I stop and look at Andrew. “Not everyone needs makeup. In fact, most women look best with only very little.”
Bell looks at her dad. She picks up a crayon, taps it on the table, and squints, skeptical. “Really?”
I nod. “The secret to being beautiful is confidence.” As an afterthought, I add my mom’s advice to me. “Confidence—and great skin.”
She sits up straighter and smiles. “I’m confident. All my teachers say so.”
“Oh, so when someone else says it, you believe it?” Andrew asks. “I tell you you’re beautiful all the time.”
“I know, but you’re my dad.” She rolls her eyes to the back of her head and says to me, “He has to say that.”
“Well, he’s right.” I lean in a little and add quickly, “But just in case, make sure to hydrate, moisturize regularly, and always wear sunscreen.”
Sadie laughs, but Bell just pinches her eyebrows together and looks to her dad, apparently done with the conversation. “I’m hungry.”
“What do you want?” Andrew asks as he picks out a piece of bread and butters it for her. “Macaroni and cheese?”
She nods. “And Coke.”
“No soda this late, you know that.” He offers me the bread basket. “Roll?”
“Are you going to butter mine too?” I ask with a hint of a smirk.
“Amelia doesn’t eat bread,” Sadie says.
Andrew mocks me with a gasp. “Really?”
“Not even sandwiches?” Bell asks.
“No,” I say. “Not macaroni either.”
“Why not?”
“Because carbohydrates make you f—” I pause. Bell’s eyes are big with curiosity. The people I pay to listen to me aren’t even this attentive. Her young brain is soaking up my words like a sponge. My own mother comes to mind, a well-to-do, naturally thin Texan who couldn’t understand why her daughter was overweight when I had constant access to any type of food I wanted, any time of day. Even though I lost the weight as a teenager, whenever I talk to her, she asks about what I’m eating, a subtle way to find out if I’ve reverted to my eleven-year-old self.
I feel Andrew staring at me. Considering how concerned he is with my diet, and how protective he is of Bell, I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me if I finish my sentence. “Carbs, like bread and pasta, make some people . . . tired,” I say instead. “And in my line of work, it’s not good to be tired.”
“Oh.” She takes a bite of her roll. “Not me. I love sandwiches. I can eat them all day and not get tired.”
I sip my water. “What’s your favorite kind?”
“Pastrami with mustard.”
“That’s a lot of sandwich for a little girl,” I point out.
“I can finish it,” she says. “Most of the time. If not, Dad eats the leftovers. He’s a human garbage disposable.”
“Disposal,” I correct, but she doesn’t hear me over Andrew and Sadie’s laughter.
“Now you answer,” Bell says. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Hmm.”
“Glenlivet doesn’t count,” Andrew says.
I giggle, but stop when I notice Sadie’s stare. “Inside joke from the award ceremony,” I tell her, clearing my throat. “Remember?”
Sadie nods slowly. “I remember . . .”
“Anyway,” I say, returning to Bell, “I love Brussels sprouts.”
Everyone groans. Bell makes a face. “Ew.”
“You can’t be serious,” Andrew says.
“I’m not.” I laugh. “Cupcakes are my weakness. Especially those huge ones from Crumbs with all the frosting and toppings.”
Andrew and Sadie turn to me. “What?” they ask in unison.
“I don’t eat them often,” I say, reeling back from their glares, “but that doesn’t mean they can’t be my favorite.”
“I like cupcakes,” Bell says. “What’s your favorite movie that’s not for grownups?”
Andrew coughs again and turns his head to me. “Not Frozen,” he says through his teeth.
“What’s Frozen?”
“Are you kidding?” Sadie asks.
I look around the table at three open-mouthed stares and get the sudden sensation of being the old person at a table of teenagers who’s never heard of Snapchat. “Oh, right,” I say, forcing a smile. “Frozen. The one about penguins.”
Bell squeals and dissolves into peals of laughter. Her face reddens as she tries to catch her breath. “No,” she gasps. “Not even close.”
Andrew puts his hand on my knee, creeping it up the inside of my thigh. Instinctively, butterflies flurry inside me. My body only knows his touch as a precursor to sex, and I get instantly warm, my stomach tightening. But then he slips his hand into mine, squeezes it, and doesn’t let go.
“I-I don’t really know any of the new stuff,” I stammer, partly because of Andrew’s unexpected affection and partly, I realize, because I was enjoying Bell’s idolization of me, and now she probably thinks I’m just another clueless adult. “I prefer the older Disney movies from when I was growing up.”
Bell gasps and yells, “Me too.”
“Hush,” Andrew says, glancing at the other patrons. “We’re in public, Bell.”
She clasps her hands together, ignoring him. “What’s your favorite? Mine’s Beauty and the Beast.”
“That’s a good one,” I say. “Is that who you’re named after? Belle?”
>
“No. She has an ‘e’ on the end of her name, but I don’t. I just like how the beast was mean to her, but she was always nice to him anyway and then they’re in love. And she reads.”
“You like to read?” I ask.
“Yes. My dad reads to me every night.”
I look over at Andrew. He keeps his eyes on Bell but curls his lips just a hint, one dimple deepening in his cheek. A tattoo creeps out from under his sleeve, the dark shadow visible through the thin white fabric. He’s a man’s man, macho as I’ve ever known, but every single night, he puts his princess-loving daughter to bed with a fairytale. And that’s a problem for me—because I didn’t think I could find him any more irresistible than I already do.
Out front of the restaurant, I sling my purse over my shoulder and offer Andrew my hand, even though we made a fairly embarrassing scene arguing over the bill. “Thank you for dinner.”
He eyes me coolly, keeping his hands in his pockets. “No problem. You only had a side salad, after all.”
“Thanks for noticing,” I say dryly, lowering my hand back to my side. Apparently his fixation with my diet hasn’t subsided. “I should get back to work.”
Sadie gasps. “I just had the best idea.” She opens her mouth, pauses, and shakes her head. “No. Never mind. Your dad’ll never go for it.”
Andrew groans, but Bell bounces on the balls of her feet. “What, what, what?”
“Well . . .” Sadie hesitates. “Uncle Nathan and I have started decorating the nursery. I thought maybe Bell would like to come over and help—”
Bell whirls to Andrew. “Can I, Daddy? Please?”
He widens his eyes at her. “You want to?”
“Yes,” she says. “I have ideas. I want to so bad. Please?”
Andrew and I both look at Sadie, and she arches an eyebrow at him. “She wants to. Because you won’t let her. See how that works?”
He doesn’t look amused. “You’re giving me a lesson in parenting?”
“You can pick her up tomorrow,” Sadie says, casting me a glance. “Or Sunday, depending on how complicated things get. With the nursery, I mean. Come around lunch, and we’ll do a picnic in Prospect Park.”