Enjoy beauties
Ophelia jumped in my arms in almost an instant, abandoning her kids show that probably boosts my daily migraine everyday.
"Who's this?" She asks, after I was done giving her a kiss on the cheek.
"This is our new neighbor, he is staying the night if that's ok?" I wonder. I forgot to tell the neighbor that I had a daughter, which would probably have been a good idea before I offered my home to him.
"Does he like drawing?" She whispered, which makes me laugh.
He looked over at me confused, and Ophelia shy away slightly. "You would have to ask him," I explain to her, tilting my gaze to him.
"Do you like drawing sir?" She says politely.
The neighbor tenses up slightly, scratching the back of his neck. He has on a similar tight black shirt, not turtle neck, which peaks at his neck—showing the tattoos that surround his throat to the back of his neck. It was probably the sexiest thing I've ever seen. And now I'm starting to realize how whole hand has it, which probably means so does his arms.
"I am a tattoo artist, so I guess it is expected that I like drawing," he replies, unaware if that was the correct answer for my three year old. It makes me smile at how he is nervous around her cute bossy demeanor that he hasn't even seen at full throttle.
"Good," she says, nodding her head to him once, before turning back at me. "He is allowed to stay." I can't hold back the laugh the pops out when I see how cute and orderly she is.
"Philly do you want to introduce yourself sweetheart?" I ask, giving her a fringe smile. She puts out her hand, nodding at her loss of manners—she truly is like a grown man.
"My name is Ophelia sir," she declares, which makes me forget that she is just a kid. This child will be the death of me, reminding me of a old business man.
Mystery man takes her hand—having to use two fingers because of the size difference between the two. "Theo," he replies slowly.
When he begins to look around the place, I scrunch my nose at her—her mirroring the move—smiling because she was able to get his name for me.
"Philly how about you go watch your show, while I show our new friend around," I nod once, her copying me, letting her down while she ran back to the couch.
I showed him to the kitchen island, offering him a drink. "Water is fine," he requests, while I reach in the fridge for a water bottle. "So since I have to spend the night with you, do you mind telling me a little about yourself?" He questions, taking a small sip from the bottle.
"Treating this as a date I see? Personally, I don't find water as dinner, but sure, I've been on worse dates," I shrug which makes his face flush. He got to joke with me earlier, now it's my turn to make his pulse quicken like he did to me.
"I didn't mean it-" he begins but I cut him off with my hand.
"Shoot whatever questions you want to ask, but don't mind me—I'm making a snack for Ophelia," I explain, grabbing a panda shaped plate while he still is seated at the island.
"Job and age? I guess," he doesn't sound sure about his questions, fiddling with the water bottle in his hand.
"Professional figure skater, and I just turned twenty three," I tell him, back turned as I cut up grapes.
"Wow, are you any good?" He stumbles on words.
"Went to the Olympics when I was fifteen, tried qualifying when I was nineteen, but found out I was pregnant and got kicked off the team. So I think I am pretty good," I shrug, not looking at him.
I love Ophelia, and will never tell her that story. Never will I make her believe she was the blame that I never went to the Olympics—it was also the reason I never quit skating after I found out about the pregnancy like everyone told me too.
It wasn't the image I wanted my daughter to grow up with, that her mother gave up at the smallest obstacles because everyone told her it was too herd.
Theo seemed to be sucking in hollow breaths, even though I wasn't looking at him. "That must have sucked," he finally spoke.
"Not as much as you'd think," I say, turning back to grab a banana from the fruit basket in front of him. "She was the best thing to happen to me, and I still skate and plan on joining the national team this year, so it's not as bad as you'd imagine." I turn back around, cutting the banana into star shapes.
He makes a little oh sound. "What about you, mystery man?" I ask.
"Tattoo artist, and I am twenty five," he replies. I nod, hoping he could see me. "So where is your husband? Or Ophelia's dad?" He asks, slowly forming the sentence.
I turn around, unintentionally. For once, I take a good look at him—hoping it would help me catch my breath at the sudden question I'm not so used to answering. He was built, muscular arms and pecks—I didn't really prefer any specific body type, but I wasn't going to lie and say he wasn't handsome. Slight stubble that matched his auburn hair—which was slightly long and pulled to the side. Light brown eyes, a little darker in shade to his hair, and an angular face.
It took everything in me to not reach out and touch his face. I was someone who didn't care how you looked, except for your face. Because you could have abs and muscles but an ugly face and I'd immediately say no. I loved eyes and lips, which he had some of the prettiest I've every seen.
"He left me when I was nineteen, apparently had better things than to watch his daughter grow up," I shrug again, trying to find something to do since I've been staring at him. My eyes advert to an apple that was also in the fruit basket, and setting it to the side because Ophelia hates apples, but I needed something to make the situation less weird.
I realized I probably ruined the non existent conversation that was happening, but I was just gave him the truth on the whereabouts on my daughters father—like he asked.
"What about you?" I muster out. "Any wife or girlfriend?"
He coughs lightly, which makes me smile slightly at his nervousness. I was more than thankful for my back being turned to him. "Nope, no one." He said, adding a pop to the p in nope.
"No one?" I repeat. "What about family if you don't mind?"
I feel his eyes burning holes on me, and it makes my back stiffen. "My mother lived in Chicago, and my father is a retired vet living the paradise dream in Miami. Divorced when I was sixteen, but I lived with my dad before moving to college."
I nod, turning back to him, wanting to pay a little more attention to the conversation. "And you?" He asks.
"Mom and dad both live in Pennsylvania, where I grew up. Sometimes they visit to watch Ophelia when I have competitions, my mom more than my dad," I explained. I moved out to Virginia for college, and also for Isiah—my ex. He went to college here and left me a year later, but I was already stuck here.
I went over to hand Ophelia her food, a plate with yogurt a fruits. "You didn't give her the apple," Theo says as I walk back into the kitchen, cleaning the cutting board.
"She hates apples," I tell him, picking up the fruit and taking a bite out of it.
He nods slowly, scratching the back of his neck. "I should probably go get my stuff now, I think it's a good time," he doesn't finish his sentence before he is up and out of the chair.
I sigh against the counter top, taking one more large bite from the apple. "Mommy," Ophelia says, catching my attention.
"Yes princess?" I ask, walking over to her. She was sitting on the couch, legs crossed in her frilly pink princess dress, tiara and wand in hand that has been her latest obsession.
"Where is your new friend going?" She points at the door that just closed, little pink lips in a full pout. I sat next to her, wrapping my arms around her as I pulled her closer into my body—twirling the little pig tail she had sticking from her hair.
I give her a kiss on top of her head. "Just to his house, he is coming back sweetie." I explain. Ophelia was more extraverted than I ever will be, even at the ripe age of three, she is more than happy to strike up and conversation with someone. And if she gets attached to you, there is no leaving her.
I'm happy Isaiah never stuck around.
I think as I look at the face and attitude they share, happy he didn't ruin Ophelia and make her wonder why her dad never cared for her. A single tear fell, but Ophelia wiped it before I could get to it.
"Mama don't cry, Belle is alright," she points to the tv that switched from her cartoon show to Beauty and the Beast. I smiled, kissing her one more time.