“Dad’s job is awesome but I’m not thinking it’s for me. My uncle Lawrie let me observe him in court once, and he ruled. It was freaking cool. So I don’t know, I got some time to decide, but I might be an attorney.”

Mickey gave no indication he comprehensively disliked that profession and replied, “Big plans. You already thinking of colleges?”

Auden answered his question and thus began easy chatting while eating that Mickey skillfully guided, mostly with the kids showing he was interested in them in a natural way that wasn’t nosy or eager to please.

As for me, I ate, listened to the casualness of their getting to know each other and just felt the happy.

I was feeling this when I also felt Mickey’s knee brush my knee and I turned my head his way.

His lips hitched up very slightly but it was his eyes that were communicating.

They said, See? It’s going fine.

I pressed my knee against his and hoped I gave him the message back that I agreed and it was making me happy.

Dinner done, the kids cleared and rinsed the dishes, putting them in the dishwasher as Mickey got out the dessert plates and I got out the apple pie and ice cream.

Conversation was still flowing but it was at this juncture that it occurred to me that Mickey inserting himself into dinner activities rather than sitting on a stool, drinking beer and being removed, was another skillful move. He’d been to my house often. He was welcome at my house any time I could get him there. I couldn’t say we made dinner together or ate together there but he really wasn’t a guest in my home. He was part of my life and thus part of my home.

And he didn’t cast himself in the role of guest in my home when my children were present either. Something they couldn’t miss and something that again Mickey made easy.

I was grinning to myself at how smart Mickey was when his phone in his jeans pocket rang.

I didn’t think much of this, didn’t even look at him until I felt the shiver trill down my spine.

My head snapped his way to see his focus completely on his phone, his lips muttering, “Sorry, gotta take this,” and his legs moving him out of the kitchen.

I had one eye on Mickey wandering across the landing, one hand on the handle of the knife I was pulling out of the block and half a mind on my daughter who was asking me, “Mom, you want me to nuke the caramel sauce?” when Mickey stopped, turned and started back our way.

“Right. There in ten,” he stated, took his phone from his ear and looked to me. “Gotta go, babe. Fire on the jetty.”

My body stilled completely.