Page 237 of Lorenzo

Mario gives me a flat look. “That has never bothered you.”

“It bothers me constantly.”

“You would be bored otherwise.”

I laugh softly and look away. He is right.

The amusement fades as quickly as it came.

“I do not know how Donna feels about children,” I say. “We have never discussed it.”

It is an obvious statement, but saying it aloud makes the possibility feel more substantial than it did a moment ago.

Donna is twenty-five.

Her life is still taking form in ways mine stopped doing years ago. She has only recently started her own business after leaving the FBI under circumstances that forced her to rebuild everything she thought her career would be.

I have two adult sons.

I am apparently already thinking about grandchildren.

There is an entire conversation contained in that difference, and we have barely managed to admit we are in love without turning it into an argument.

“I can only imagine that conversation would terrify her,” I add.

Mario’s mouth curves. “You seem pleased by that.”

“I find the thought of terrorizing Donna quite enjoyable. However, this particular subject may be pushing my luck.”

“You could simply ask her what she wants.”

“That sounds suspiciously reasonable.”

“I have my moments.”

“Rarely.”

He ignores that.

I look down at my hands again.

“I do not even know what I want,” I admit. “Yesterday morning, I had not told the woman I loved her. This morning, you are asking me whether I have considered having children with her.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

The sounds of the office continue beyond the closed door: muted footsteps in the hallway, the distant ring of a phone, voices too low to make out the words.

Ordinary sounds.

Ordinary morning.

And I am sitting here thinking about a future I thought I had closed the door on more than twenty years ago.

Mario breaks the silence.

“And if she does not want children?”

I lift my head.