Chapter 4
Mike pulls up to what I assume is his house. As soon as we had gotten in the car, he had blasted the heat, but I am still dripping and shivering uncontrollably. He appears to be soaking wet; water droplets are lingering on his perfect waves and sliding down his temples. His shirt looks as if it had absorbed every rain drop, and it clings to his chiseled torso. It is extremely difficult for me not to stare.
His house is made of wooden logs. It looks like one of those cabins in the woods, but instead it’s right off a road with little landscaping. It’s beautiful and looks welcoming. I retrieve my bag from the cramped back seat of his pickup and he leads me to his house.
Inside, I smell something indescribably delicious coming from what I assume is the kitchen. Mike takes his shoes off, and I do the same before he links his fingers between mine and takes me closer to where the aroma is coming from.
“Mama,” he says.
I look up to see his genuine, beautiful smile on his face.
“This is Shilah; Shilah, this is my mom. You can call her Dayna.”
“Hi,” I say shyly, and reach for her hand.
She takes it in hers and smiles at me. Mike’s smile resembles hers exactly. She has the same coppery skin as his also. Her shiny black hair is swept off her neck in a lazy bun. She is very small and short but her grip on my hand had been firm. She is wearing baggy cargo pants and a floral top that hugs her small torso, along with a white apron that has multiple stains splattered across it.
“Very nice to meet you,” she says in a heavy Italian accent.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I say, and let her get back to cooking whatever deliciousness she had on the stove.
Mike lets go of my hand to reach down and give his mom a hug. She appears so miniature in his arms. He kisses the top of her head.
“What are we going to eat?” He asks.
“Pasta and bread; is good, no?”
“Yeah, that’s perfect.”
She smiles at him, and her eyes sparkle the way I had seen his so many times before.
“Eh, Michael, go put some new clothes on! You’re guest is all wet!”
Mike laughs under his breath. “Ok, mama. Love you.”
She bends over the oven and as she’s placing a steaming loaf of bread on the stove top, she replies, “I love you too, my son.”
Mike smiles and returns to me, taking my hand again and leading me up the stairs.
“So now you’ve met my mom,”
“She’s so…full of…love,” I say slowly, trying to describe her the best way possible
Mike grins. “Yeah, she is. My dad says it’s her Italian blood that makes her the way she is, but sometimes I think it’s just her. I was born in Italy; I don’t know if you knew that.”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t. When did you move to America?”
“When I was six. My dad was studying abroad in Italy when he met my mom, and it was his idea to move back to the states, where his family was.”
“It must have been so hard for your mom to leave her family behind.”
“Not too hard,” he smirks, “She only had a mother, and she wasn’t as loving as my mom is, if you know what I mean. But anyways…,”
He smiles and leads me to an empty bedroom.
“You can change in here. Sorry I kept you in wet clothes for so long.”
I laugh. “It’s fine. I can barely notice it anymore.”
Once the door is shut behind me, I practically rip off my clothing. I had lied; I really had noticed the freezing wet fabric sticking to my body. Being free from the discomfort, I lay down on the fixed bed, and the warmth of the blankets feels divine. I unzip my bag and pull on my outfit, loving the feeling of warm, stretchy cotton against my skin. I stand in front of the mirror dresser and frown at my ruined curls. I use the elastic on my wrist to pull my soggy waves back into a ponytail. I wonder why I’m not extremely disappointed with my appearance, since I usually am when I’m wearing no makeup and my hair is messy. I shrug and grin at myself before stuffing the soaking clothes back into my bag and exiting the room.
I hear Mike’s smooth voice mumbling to his mom when I reach the top of the stairs. I trot down them and stroll into the kitchen. Mike is setting the table, and his mom is stirring something in a large pot on the stove. He looks up at me and smiles. He has changed his clothes too; he is wearing a dry pair of blue jeans and a navy blue t-shirt. His mom turns around to carry the pot to the table and looks at me longer than I expect her to. Once she sets the steaming pot on a trivet she looks up at me and squeezes my arms.
“My,” she says, “You are a very pretty girl. My son better treat you well.”
I grin and laugh, “I’ll let you know how he does.”
She smiles and leads me to the table, where I feel more welcome and comfortable than I ever thought I would have with Mike Fyler.
The dinner is incredible; I feel guilty not talking because I’m stuffing my mouth so fast. I hear the front door swing open and I turn around to see a tall, built man shrugging out of his trench coat and shaking out a sopping umbrella.
“Hey, dad!” Mike says and begins to fill a plate with pasta and garlic bread.
“Hey guys,” the man who I now know is Mike’s dad replies.
He shuffles quickly into his seat at the table and leans over to kiss his wife. I’m nearly embarrassed to be in their presence when I see the way she gazes at him. I had never seen my parents look at each other the way I had just witnessed. Mike seems not to be phased, and instead introduces me.
“Very nice to meet you, Shilah! You can call me Jim,” he says warmly.
Later that night, Mike takes my hand and leads me outside. It is humid from the storm, but there is a cooling breeze that flows through my now dry waves.
“Your family is…incredible,” I say as we begin to walk down a long, paved road.
“Aren’t they like any other family? Well, aside from the fantastic food…”
I laugh. “Well, compared to my family, yours is the best.”
“Wow, why?”
I sigh. My guard was falling faster than I had ever thought it would, and this made me nervous. I wanted to tell Mike everything and let him into my life, but I didn’t know how he would take it. He seemed understanding, but I couldn’t know for sure yet.
“My dad wasn’t very supportive…of anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, my mom was an aspiring model when he met her, and he never really took her job seriously. He always thought that once they got married, she was going to suddenly give up her dream and become super mom of a million kids. He thought she would cook and clean and obey his every command. That’s not my mom. So when she became really involved in the modeling industry, my dad wasn’t very happy. And when she told him she was done having kids after I was born, he wasn’t happy about that either.”
“So what happened? Did he just learn to deal with it?”
I look up at Mike and see innocent curiosity displayed on his perfect face. I allow myself to think back to the day my dad knelt in front of me and pushed a strand of my hair behind my tiny ear.
“Sweetheart,” he had said, wrinkles carved into his forehead, “Mommy’s going to take care of you now. Daddy can’t be here anymore.”
I remember feeling so confused because I didn’t know why he needed to leave. My mom hadn’t explained anything; every time I had asked she said that we weren’t going to talk about it. Then I got older and understood completely. My father had left my mother and I. I hadn’t seen or talked to him since he left me at my front door, young, vulnerable, and filled with sadness.
“He left,” I whisper, and try my hardest to hold in the tears that are ready to spill out.
Mike stops walking, and looks down at me. “Your dad left you?”
I nod and look away. “I was six. My mom had just gotten into a Victoria’s Secret catalogue, and he was angry. She refused to give up her dream and just wanted him to support her, but he refused. So one day he packed his things and left us. Just like that.”
“Just like that,” Mike repeats me and tilts my head up to meet his eyes.
He cups my face in his hands and I hold my breath.
“Your dad didn’t realize how blessed he was.”
I give up on holding back and let tears slip out of my eyes and down my cheeks. Mike gently wipes them away with his soft fingertips and smiles with his mouth closed. The moon is reflecting off his eyes and spilling over his radiant skin.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
His hands fall from my face back to his sides and we continue to walk down the winding road back to his house, letting the perfect night envelope us and make everything that we want to forget in our pasts melt away.
you cease to amaze me!! You are sincerely an amazing writer!! 
But i'm trying, and thanks for letting me know what's up, i really really appreciate it!!! 
