New York Billionaires Series

“Exactly. Besides, you like mango, too.”

“Yeah, but not all the time.”

“I’m old and set in my ways.”

“You’re not that old,” he frowns. “Mike’s dad is in his fifties!”

I snort. At thirty-four, I suppose it’s nice that my kid doesn’t consider me that old. But at nine, I guess all adults are old. “Well, people have children at different ages.”

“Or they get children at different ages, like you got me.”

“Exactly like that, yes.”

He doesn’t sound upset about it. For Joshua, his parents’ deaths aren’t something he remembers. He only knows of my sister and her husband’s airplane crash in the Rocky Mountains from what he’s been told, even if he’d been alive in those terrible days when rescue teams searched after the chartered airplane. He’d been two years old.

I’d signed Joshua’s adoption papers six days after his parents had been officially declared dead.

We stop by the ice cream stand on the east side of Central Park. It’s only a stone’s throw from our apartment, and it’s a place we frequent. Some might call us regulars. Like Larry, for example.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“My regulars!” he calls, seeing us approach. “And look at you, handsome man. In a uniform like your dad.”

Joshua looks up at Larry in the ice cream booth. “Dad’s not in a uniform.”

“A suit’s almost like a uniform,” I say.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like a policeman or a firefighter. They save lives. And,” he adds, “they have dogs!”

Larry shoots me a knowing look. He’s heard Joshua’s desire for a puppy for months, if not years. “Their dogs are working dogs, little man. They’re part of the force. Chocolate again?”

“No, thank you. Strawberry for me.”

“Strawberry it is.” Larry doesn’t ask me for mine, as it never changes. A minute later and I pay for both of our ice creams, one mango and one strawberry.

“See you next week, guys.”

“Thanks, Larry,” I say. Joshua turns around with a single-minded focus on his ice cream. We take the long way home, walk past the pond. Joshua looks up at me in surprise when I head to one of the park benches, but doesn’t protest.

I stretch out my legs in front of me. It’s a beautiful fall day, I’m in the park with my kid, and I’ve got ice cream in my hand.

Time to do a little investigative work.

“When did the stomachache start?”

Silence as he stops licking his ice cream. “Dad…”

“Yeah?”

He sighs. “I didn’t really have a stomachache.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling. If there is one thing my son is terrible at, it’s dishonesty. I hope he never grows up and learns. “Oh? What happened, then?”

He looks at the ground beneath us, stretching out a leg to kick an errant pebble. “I didn’t mean for them to call you. I know you’re busy.”

“Never too busy for you.”

“I thought they’d call the house, and Marianne could come get me.”

“Marianne’s not authorized to pick you up during school hours. Only family is.” I’d had to sign waivers to the school to allow Marianne and Ryan pick-up rights for Joshua after school was over. St. John’s Prep takes safety as seriously as they take education, one of the many reasons I’d chosen it.

Joshua’s quiet, but it’s a heavy sort of silence. He’s working up to something, and whatever it is, it’s big. I take a shot in the dark.

“Did it have something to do with the new girl? The French one?”

He groans, throwing his head back against the bench. “Dad, it’s going terribly!”

Bingo. I sling my arm behind him on the bench, tugging him closer. “Tell me.”

“She doesn’t know I like her.”

“Mhm.”

“I’ve thought of telling her,” he says seriously, “but what if she doesn’t like me too?”

“Could happen,” I admit. “That’s always a risk.”

“So I decided I should become her friend first, and get to know her, and then tell her when I know she at least likes me as a friend.”

“Very smart,” I comment.

“But I heard Dexter telling her today that he likes her. And she said she liked him too.” His shoulders curve forward, and I watch as strawberry ice cream drips onto his hand, forgotten.

“Oh, kiddo. That sucks.”

“It does,” he says. “It really really really sucks.”

I reach out and wipe his hand off. “But you know, you two are in the same class now. You’ll know her for the entire school year, perhaps even next year. And she could change her mind.”

“Dexter is awful.”

I know for a fact that Dexter had once been considered a friend in our household. As a matter of fact, I think he’s been to our apartment to play, but I keep that comment to myself. “Danielle can change her mind. Girls do that sometimes. Boys too, you know.”

He sighs the sigh of unrequited love. “But when?”

“I don’t know, kid. It might never happen, but you can’t lose hope. Try to be her friend regardless. You still want to get to know her, don’t you?”

“I guess,” he mutters.

“Because she’s nice and funny?”