All Who Dream (Letting Go) (8 page)

 
“I didn’t think you were coming.” Though I
made the comment under my breath, I stared ahead at my glass of water.

 
“I have a strict policy not to disappoint
women, Miss Flores.” His voice was low and smooth, no detectable emotion behind
it.

I gulped
a quick swig of my drink. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

A crooked
smile danced on his lips. “Try me.”

I looked
away immediately, mouth as dry as the Sahara once again.

A deep
rumble shook his chest while I tried to focus my attention on the Zimmerman’s
agent—Carly Grant. She was telling a story about when she traveled to Denmark
to meet a client a few years ago. People were laughing, but the humor escaped
me. I was too busy trying to forget that Jackson sat next to me.

The night
carried on as Cody worked to finish a bowl of spaghetti the size of New Jersey.
He had been asked a lot of questions and was included in a great deal of the
evening’s discussions. Their kindness toward my son blessed me. Many times in
my life as a single mom I had been on the receiving end of eye rolls and
whispers for bringing my son with me to places when most people would have
hired a babysitter. This situation was one of the topics I had written about in
a blog post, actually—a relatable topic for many in single parenting. Nights
like this—nights where we could be treated like everyone else—were a rare,
sweet gift.

At the
end of the meal I found myself worrying less about my dress-debacle and
thoroughly engaged in the company of this group. If not for
The Refuge
or the walk-in customers at the
flower shop, I would be a social shut-in. As it was, Rosie already thought me
one.

I enjoyed
meeting people though—I loved hearing people’s life stories. They reminded me
that not everyone faced tragedy and heartache to the degree I had known it.
That fact gave me hope—for Cody.

I smiled
at him and reminded him softly to wipe his mouth with the napkin on his lap. He
nodded.

Surprisingly,
Mr. Ross pulled my chair out as the guests at the table stood to say their
goodbyes.

We walked
to the curb and waited for Walt to bring the car around.

 
“If you don’t mind, I’ll catch a ride back
with you tonight.”

I stared at
him, leery of this new, seemingly well-mannered Jackson Ross.

 
“Sure, of course,” I said.

Inside
the car, he checked his phone. Cody sat in the front like usual.

 
“Tonight was nice,” I ventured.

 
“Indeed.” He scrolled his thumb over the
screen.

 
“Do you go there often?” I asked.

He
glanced up at me, a tiny smirk on his face, “Yes. That is one of my regulars.
Pane Di Vita is a great place—as is the owner.”

 
“Oh.” I shifted in my seat, his close
proximity causing me to sweat.

I stared
out the window and watched the lights of the city blur past. This city was a
different kind of beautiful—New York. Loud, busy, crazy, chaotic…but I could
find an appreciation for it, even if my heart did yearn for the quiet of
country living. That dream would most likely stay just that—a dream.

 
“I trust you have what you need now for the
events on the tour schedule?”

I jumped
at the sound of his voice. He studied me, a gaze of his I’d grown used to.

 
“Yes, thank you for asking…and for coming
along today. Cody had a good time.”

A cold chill
invaded my gut as I thought about the huge debt I owed.

 
“It’s a part of the job.”

I nodded.
Of course…I am his job. Remember that,
Angie.

The car
stopped outside of the T. Ross Building and I stepped out. I realized then that
Pippy
had never texted
me
back about the missing receipt. It took every shred of courage for me to ask
him, but I needed to know the final number—the damage.

Turning
back toward the car as Cody walked into the lobby, I indicated for Jackson to
roll his window down. He did, tilting his head to the side, brows raised.

 
“Is there something wrong, Miss Flores?”

 
“Uh—not exactly, I just couldn’t find the
receipt for the purchases today…and I need to know the total.”

His head
tilted to the side as he seemed to ponder some deep, philosophical query. I was
about to restate my question when he finally opened his mouth.

“You have
no total. Your
moral issue
has been
resolved.”

“I—what
do you mean, exactly? I thought we had an understanding that I only wanted
a loan
. I am going to repay every penny,
as I indicated to you earlier.” My frustration grew exponentially as he leaned
back into his seat and crossed his arms, amusement dancing on his lips.

I opened
my mouth, no sound coming out.

 
“You had a moral issue with the company
expensing more than three dresses because that is all you could afford?
Correct?”

My brows
furrowed. “Yes, that is what I said.”

 
“Great. Well, your purchases today were
not
expensed. They are a gift. And after
careful deliberation with my own moral compass, I hope you will come to the
same conclusion as I have: a gift cannot be repaid.”

I gawked
at him.
He cannot be serious.

 
“No…” I shook my head. “There are
six
dresses in my room right now.” I
pointed to the building as if he could see them with some magical x-ray vision.
“That’s an extraordinary amount of money! I cannot accept any gift that
large—not from the company.”

He was
quiet for a beat too long as I tried to ignore what I was reading in his eyes.

 
“It’s not from the company.”

Flames
engulfed my neck and face. “I cannot accept a gift of that magnitude, Mr.
Ross.”

 
“I assure you I expect nothing in return. No
need to jump to any ridiculous conclusions. They are only pieces of cloth, Miss
Flores. Not a dowry.”

I was
beyond mortified. If only I could die.
Right here.
On the sidewalk.

 
“I—I—”

 
“Goodnight, Miss Flores.”

He rolled
his window up as I stared after the black town car driving away.

Despite
my resolve to have the last word…tonight would not be
that
night
.

Three
interviews spread between NYC and Philadelphia, along with five bookstore
signings and a whole lot of eating out
later,
there
was one glaringly obvious common denominator: no Jackson.

I had
begun to think he’d given all responsibility over to
Pippy
when he suddenly showed up Thursday morning at a radio interview in Rochester.
Cody was waiting with
Pippy
just outside the studio,
watching us through the glass. I had my headphones on, as did Sue Bolan who was
representing our Publisher’s tour with me today. I knew the drill by now. They
usually asked around six to eight questions, all of which I had read and
approved beforehand.

Though
I’d taken my own precautions by changing my last name from
Luterra
to Flores after the attack six years ago, I couldn’t be too cautious—not when
it came to Cody. His name was innocent of his father’s sins. And I’d do
anything for it to stay that way.

I smiled
at the host, feeling confident about the interview…until I saw Jackson standing
in the control room with headphones on, staring at me.
 

“…you
have one son, and you have raised him entirely on your own?” Brian Marks—the
radio DJ asked me.

 
“That’s correct. It’s just been Cody and me
since his birth, although I’ve had wonderful support from my brother and some
good friends.”

 
“So it does take a village then—to raise a
child?” he asked.

 
“Oh, absolutely.
I
think one wrong assumption that is made about single parenting is that we have
to be both mom and dad—and that is simply not possible. Responsible parenting
involves creating a world in which there are multiple healthy influences
pouring into your child’s life. We are connected to a church that has really
helped me with that challenge. I think that is one of the most important
aspects of parenting—whether single or married.”

 
“I think you make a great point, Angela,”
Brian said. “A well-rounded child is one that is connected to the world around
them. You certainly seem like you’re a good mom, and I’ll tell you folks, her
picture on her blog,
A Lone Joy
, does
little justice to the beautiful woman that sits before me now. Let me be the
first to say, you don’t have a face for radio.”

He winked
at me as I blushed, fingering my necklace. “Well, thank you. I do try to be a
good mom, but behind every good mom there’s a mom that is afraid she’s failed.”

 
“And what’s your advice to those
mothers—single moms in particular?” he asked.

 
“Not to give up. To look at each day with
fresh eyes, no matter how hard things were the day before. To remember the
reasons why your heart sings when you see your child succeed in something, or
when you watch them make a choice for the benefit of another person. To stop
comparing yourself to the mom down the street that has, does, and is everything
that you are not. At the end of the day, if your child knows that you love
them…let that be enough. And let tomorrow be a clean slate.”

 
“Well said.” Brian grinned at me.
“Smart, talented and gorgeous.
I have a feeling you won’t be
single for long Miss Angela Flores. NYC, you’ll want to meet this pretty lady.
Her tour dates and schedule are located on our website. Check them out…and
we’ll be back in a moment to talk with Sue Bolan about her book
Adoption Answers
—what are the questions
and answers you need to know?”

Brian hit
two buttons in sequence then took off his headphones and stared at me.

He pushed
long blonde hair out of his eyes and reached his hand out for mine as I stood.
“Wow, you were awesome—a pro! If being a big time author doesn’t pan out, you
should look me up. I’ll hire you, though I was serious about your face not
being made for radio. You shouldn’t be held up in some dark hole like me.”

I shook
his hand as heat rushed my face. “Well, thank you, you made it easy.”

He was
handsome, in his own way. Blue eyes, fair skin, and a couple tattoos on his
right bicep. His face wasn’t made to be in radio either, but I wouldn’t dare
say that aloud.

 
“Here…” He handed me his card. “If you ever
want a tour guide while you’re here, I’ve grown up in New York. I can show you
an insider’s tour.”

 
“Oh, well…thanks. I have Cody, so I doubt I’ll
have a free evening.”

He
shrugged. “I like kids. Bring him with you. I
gotta
get back on the air, but call, anytime. I mean it.”

 
“Thank you again, Brian.”

I left
the studio just as Sue began drumming a nervous rhythm with her fingernails on
the table in front of her, headphone on, eyes closed. She hated radio
interviews; she had told me so earlier, which was why I had gone first.

Cody opened
the studio door and rushed to hug me. “You did so great, Mom!
Pippy
said it was your best one yet.”

Pippy
nodded in confirmation as I saw Jackson step out of
the control room—face tight, pensive. As he walked past us, I fought the urge
to ask what he thought.

Hot.
Cold.
Hot.
Cold.

The man
was a broken water heater.

Keeping
my eyes on Jackson—who was ten steps ahead of us—I asked, “So what else is on
the agenda today?”

 
“Well, I promised Cody he could meet my
brother today. What do you think about getting a little tour through Pinkerton
Press?”

 
“Oh that sounds great…how far away is the
office building?”

 
“About an hour from here, give or take, with
traffic. It’s only a few blocks down from where you’re staying.” She smiled and
shrugged, stopping in the hallway as Cody ran to catch up with Mr. Ross.

 
“Aren’t you coming?” I asked her.

 
“Oh, didn’t I mention I have to stay until Sue
is finished?” She smiled at me sweetly.

 
“Uh…no.
Do you want
us to wait with you, then?”

 
“No, absolutely not.
Mr. Ross is going to take you. He’s agreed to give you the tour—thinks it will
be fun, actually. I’ll just meet up with you there.”

 
“Are you serious? I highly doubt Mr. Ross
wants to be our
tour guide
. He barely
wants to say hello to me. I think I’d rather wait for you.”

Now she
was laughing, full-on
Pippy
-laughing.

 
“What? I’m serious. The guy is like a dark
rain cloud who keeps the sun away
on purpose
!
Does he even know what
fun
is?” I planted
my hands on my hips, battling a smile that kept trying to sneak across my lips.
 

 
“I promise…he’s not usually…like that—”
Pippy
was laughing so hard she could barely speak.

 
“
Pippy
, I am an
expert in the art of denial, and you’ve got it, bad.”