The Man from Her Past
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“No.” He choked as his throat tightened. “I’m not saving it.”
He turned. Cassie was waiting, still watchful.
“What did you bring?” Cassie asked with a hand toward the cartons.
“Antipasto, spaghetti, tiramisu for Hope and me and cr`eme br^ul'ee for you.”
“I smell the spaghetts.” Hope’s nose quivered like a kitten’s. “And look at the salad, Mommy.” She prodded the one see-through package. “Can I have your cootons?”
“Croutons.” Her voice was absent. “Spaghetts are Hope’s favorites.”
There was more in her tone. An extra warning. She looked at her daughter with her heart literally in her eyes and more love than Van suspected she’d ever felt for him. Hope owned that much of her. Cassie would fight with her last breath to keep her little girl safe.
Even from him. As if he’d hurt a baby.
She took down plates and salad dishes from the cabinet. Then she helped Hope open the plastic container. “What else did you want to talk about?” Her briskness suggested he make it fast and beat it.
“I didn’t come back just to talk about your father.”
She found serving utensils and scooped salad onto Hope’s dish without looking up. “He’s all that’s left. Face it, Van.”
“No.” With Hope hanging on every nuance, he couldn’t elaborate.
Cassie just looked at him. Then she popped the tops off the other cartons and started to add food to her daughter’s plate.
“Wait.” Van reached for her hand, but she backed up. Message taken. “I need to warm up the pasta.”
Cassie shrugged. “Okay. I’d better call the hospital, but you can start now with your salad, baby.”
“Goodie.”
“Will you talk to Mr. Van while I’m gone?”
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