AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No, you just seem so…youthful. Especially with Dylan. I saw the two of you throwing around that football the other night.”
“Oh, so you were spying on me?”
“No!” Again, heat rises to my cheeks. “I was just doing the dishes and happened to see you.”
“Mmm.”
Internally, I’m so confused—I’m both attracted and annoyed by his arrogance.
“But anyway, yeah. That’s the story with her.”
His words snap me back out of my head. “Oh, and she never comes around?”
“Not really.”
“That has to be hard.” It was hard for me, too, at first, when I realized that Carlos never intended to stick around and be a father. Over time, I’ve learned that it was probably for the best. Mina doesn’t deserve someone who won’t give her one hundred percent.
“Not for me. I mean, her presence only reminds me of the fact that I have failed a marriage.”
“Well, if she left, it kind of sounds like she was the failure.”
“I suppose we both could take some fault for that.”
“Yeah? What did you do?” I’ve seen how Dean acts around his son firsthand. The ways he steps up to support his family. I can’t imagine any woman asking for more than that. I know that’s all I would need.
“Well, I wasn’t much of a man. A provider, I mean.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at that. “Ugh, those gender stereotypes are so archaic. I’ve done just fine ‘providing’ for my family.”
“Yeah, but Anna wasn’t as independent as you are. She dreamt of being that stay-at-home wife who met me in my suit with a tray of freshly baked muffins at the end of the day kind of woman.”
“So, why didn’t that happen?”
“I followed a dream she didn’t approve of.”
“Which was?”
“To be a painter.”
A painter? Never in a million years did I see him, Mr. Moneybags, wanting to be an artist. My shock must be written on my face because he looks at me with a raised eyebrow after a couple of seconds.
“What?”
“I—I’m just surprised. That doesn’t seem like you at all.” And yet, the picture forming in my mind of Dean, in a paint-stained apron, his arms bulging as he carefully strokes his paintbrush across the canvas…
“Well, it isn’t anymore,” Dean’s voice pulls me from my fantasy and brings me right back to the car. “That’s kind of the point. After she left with Ricardo, or whatever his name is, I realized I had to step up. So, I finally gave in to the offer my dad had made to me for years about joining his company. Now, I actually run it.”
“But are you happy?” I can’t imagine development brings him as much joy as being an artist.
“Dylan seems to be.”
“That’s not what I asked. Of course, our focus as parents is largely on our kids, but you have to think about your own happiness, too.”
“Well, I guess…no. No, I’m not happy.” Dean lets out a heavy breath. “Wow. I haven’t admitted that to anyone. Not even to myself.”
“That’s great,” I say. “I mean, not that you’re unhappy, but that you’re starting to recognize it.”
“Honestly, I can’t remember being as excited about anything—other than Dylan taking his first steps and saying his first words—since we started talking about these bees,” Dean says, I think to detract us from his admission of unhappiness.
