Foreman accepted Amber's corrections without protesting. How she wanted to explain their meeting to her family was up to her; he'd tried to keep their meeting above suspicion, and she could add whatever details she wanted.
Even so, Foreman eyed Leila with a mild irritation, although he didn't let it show. A walk across a parking lot wasn't exactly a tightrope act over the Grand Canyon. She was acting like Amber had blithely taken her life--or her virtue--in her hands just because she'd accepted Foreman's company. He could remember thinking something similar then, that Amber might well choose getting soaked over risking a stranger's company, but now, hearing the same doubt from someone else after he'd gotten to know Amber, it felt like Leila would have treated him with all the caution she'd approach a Rottweiler off its leash instead of someone offering a favour. Leila couldn't possibly know Amber, anyway, if she thought a 'danger' as innocent as five minutes of conversation was something that would stop her from getting what she wanted. Anything could have happened, and anything had. Amber set that straight, and Foreman pressed her hand, appreciating it.
He didn't jump in, and Leila turned the conversation to her daughter. Geoffrey, still looking around to see where she was, said, "She's doing very well in kindergarten. We think it was the right choice to send her a year early, even if we had to fight the school on that. As if waiting eight months until she was five would have had an appreciable affect. She hasn't had any problems this fall."
"She should meet Eric," Leila said. In the back of his mind, Foreman couldn't help thinking if you're sure she'd be safe talking to me for five minutes, but he pushed it aside; bitter thoughts like that were used to being banished, and disappeared easily.
He couldn't quite relax. The furniture was comfortable, ostentatiously so; it had to be new. Foreman made a good salary and was used to paying for quality and comfort, and yeah, for showing off. He got his suits tailored when he bought off the rack, he'd arranged his apartment with furniture, electronics, and decorations that were meant to impress. The difference was, he knew what he wanted, and he got it. He was aware of the intended effect. It might not be humble, or modest, but why the hell should he hold back when he could demonstrate just how hard he'd struggled to get the good life? He'd pulled himself up and he let it show. The Volakises, though, seemed oblivious of any showing-off their well-decorated house implied. They treated the living room like it was an accustomed comfort. Foreman kept himself upright, resisting the invitation to lean back into the couch.
"Madeleine," Geoffrey called, and after a second, a little girl with long blonde hair and a solemn expression appeared in the doorway, clutching a piece of paper.
"Come here, honey," Leila said, and Madeleine ran to her side, clambering onto the couch and snuggling in. She peeked around her mom, staring warily at Foreman.
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Even so, Foreman eyed Leila with a mild irritation, although he didn't let it show. A walk across a parking lot wasn't exactly a tightrope act over the Grand Canyon. She was acting like Amber had blithely taken her life--or her virtue--in her hands just because she'd accepted Foreman's company. He could remember thinking something similar then, that Amber might well choose getting soaked over risking a stranger's company, but now, hearing the same doubt from someone else after he'd gotten to know Amber, it felt like Leila would have treated him with all the caution she'd approach a Rottweiler off its leash instead of someone offering a favour. Leila couldn't possibly know Amber, anyway, if she thought a 'danger' as innocent as five minutes of conversation was something that would stop her from getting what she wanted. Anything could have happened, and anything had. Amber set that straight, and Foreman pressed her hand, appreciating it.
He didn't jump in, and Leila turned the conversation to her daughter. Geoffrey, still looking around to see where she was, said, "She's doing very well in kindergarten. We think it was the right choice to send her a year early, even if we had to fight the school on that. As if waiting eight months until she was five would have had an appreciable affect. She hasn't had any problems this fall."
"She should meet Eric," Leila said. In the back of his mind, Foreman couldn't help thinking if you're sure she'd be safe talking to me for five minutes, but he pushed it aside; bitter thoughts like that were used to being banished, and disappeared easily.
He couldn't quite relax. The furniture was comfortable, ostentatiously so; it had to be new. Foreman made a good salary and was used to paying for quality and comfort, and yeah, for showing off. He got his suits tailored when he bought off the rack, he'd arranged his apartment with furniture, electronics, and decorations that were meant to impress. The difference was, he knew what he wanted, and he got it. He was aware of the intended effect. It might not be humble, or modest, but why the hell should he hold back when he could demonstrate just how hard he'd struggled to get the good life? He'd pulled himself up and he let it show. The Volakises, though, seemed oblivious of any showing-off their well-decorated house implied. They treated the living room like it was an accustomed comfort. Foreman kept himself upright, resisting the invitation to lean back into the couch.
"Madeleine," Geoffrey called, and after a second, a little girl with long blonde hair and a solemn expression appeared in the doorway, clutching a piece of paper.
"Come here, honey," Leila said, and Madeleine ran to her side, clambering onto the couch and snuggling in. She peeked around her mom, staring warily at Foreman.