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Chapter Seven: The Little Goat

The Friday of their first date came with a flurry of nervous energy Rosemary hadn’t felt since university. Jeremy had secured a house-sitter—an older nurse at the hospital eager to repay his kindness as a colleague.

At eight-thirty, a midnight-blue Buick pulled up to the Ascott driveway. Rosemary stepped onto the porch, striking in a floor-length black evening dress, a white faux-ermine coat providing sharp contrast. Jeremy met her on the path, his black Mexican-style suit and crimson cummerbund equally distinguished.

He looked as though he wanted to whistle in admiration, but one glance at Rosemary’s father and brother standing like sentries at the door made him think better of it. The twins, meanwhile, put on a rare display of shyness; they clung to their grandparents’ legs, peeking out to wave a silent goodbye as the Buick pulled away.

Jeremy had chosen El Cabrito—The Little Goat—an established landmark known for its legendary Mexican cuisine. It was the kind of place where reservations were usually made six months in advance, yet they were personally escorted to a table reserved for dignitaries.

“A perk of the profession,” Jeremy whispered as the owner, a man whose son Jeremy had recently saved from a rattlesnake bite, pulled out Rosemary’s chair.

“I am honoured to welcome you to my humble establishment, Mrs. Ascott,” the owner pronounced, his voice landing with a warmth that matched the well-lit, tastefully decorated room. Unlike the gaudy, neon-soaked eateries Rosemary had seen elsewhere, El Cabrito was refined and intimate.

The three-course meal was sumptuous, with vibrant spices that weren’t overwhelming. As they talked, Rosemary found her “Ice Princess” defences melting entirely. If Jeremy’s goal had been to make an impression, he had succeeded a hundredfold. She was startled when she finally glanced at her watch; it was nearly eleven o’clock.

The drive home was quiet, filled with the comfortable silence of two people who had realized they were no longer strangers. At her door, she offered a polite invitation for coffee, but they both knew the reality of their lives.

“The twins will be waiting,” she said softly.
“And I need to release the nurse so I can check on Mary-Jane,” Jeremy agreed. He leaned in, pecking her lightly on the cheek. “I’ll call you in the morning, Rosemary. I promise.”

Inside, the house was far from quiet. The entire Ascott clan was waiting in the living room, ready to launch an inquiry that felt more like the Spanish Inquisition than a family chat.

“Was he a gentleman?” her father demanded.
“Does he have a nice car?” Timothy added.
Rosemary answered as best she could, her tone firm but fatigued, until they realized she would only reveal what she deemed necessary. With a round of “goodnights,” the house finally settled into a peaceful slumber.

Saturday morning brought a relentless, grey downpour that turned the world outside into a blurred landscape of rain. It was a day for staying in bed, yet by eight o’clock, the family was gathered around the table. The air smelled of black coffee, hot chocolate, and buttered toast dripping with maple syrup.

The domestic peace was shattered by Joshua, who looked up from his syrup-soaked plate with a heavy expression. “So, Mum… are we going to have a dad? I’m sick of hitting boys at school for calling us fatherless kids.”

The room went still. It was the question Rosemary had kept locked in the back recesses of her mind, and now it was out in the open. She looked at Joshua and Caleb, their young faces etched with a vulnerability they rarely showed.

“No, Joshua,” Rosemary delivered the sentence with a soft but steady composure. “We aren’t even dating yet. We’ve simply become friends.”

“Boys,” Cally interjected, her maternal voice acting as a shield for her daughter. “Your mother needs space to think. This is a major decision. For now, you have your grandfather and your Uncle Timothy. They love you tremendously.”
“What is ‘tremendously’?” Caleb asked innocently.
“It means more than you can count,” Timothy replied, before adding a pointed look at Rosemary. “He seems like a good guy. But if he ever steps out of line, I’ll personally show him the error of his ways—and it won’t be pretty.”

Jeremy’s promised call finally came at ten-forty-five. He was breathless and apologetic; he had been called into the trauma centre for emergency surgery on a gunshot victim.

“The patient is stable now,” he told her, his voice weary but relieved. “Rosemary, last night was… it was more than just a nice dinner. I’m falling in love with you. I’d like to be considered a suitor, not just a friend.”

There was no joking this time. Rosemary felt a flutter in her chest that no software logic could explain. “Yes,” she replied simply. “I would like that too.”

From that moment, the relationship gained momentum of its own. Within weeks, Jeremy and his daughter, Mary-Jane—now known to the family as “MJ”—were regulars for Sunday lunch at the Ascott home.

MJ was four years older than the twins, and though they attended the same school, she had always seemed a world away. Now, she found herself fascinated by the woman who had “swept her father off his feet.”

For Jeremy, the change was dramatic. He seemed to be walking on air, his mind in a constant state of “recess.” As MJ watched her father, she realized that love was a condition no doctor could truly treat; it starts in the mind and settles in the heart, mimicking the symptoms of a heart attack and a stroke all at once. Her father had it bad, and she loved him all the more for it. For the first time since the loss of her own mother, the house felt like it was filling with light again.