Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Everything is amazing with ice cream,” she corrects solemnly. She draws a deep breath, seeming to mull over my offer, then she nods resolutely. “All right. I’ll do it. I’ll beat him for ice cream.”
As she marches to the tee, I hang back a few feet behind with Carter. “I figure Mr. Blaine’s round of golf will take longer than ours,” I say, using the formal name for the team owner since Carter always does. “So we’ll need something to do after.”
“I’ll text him.”
“Make sure she doesn’t have any allergies or food restrictions,” I add.
He smiles like that’s the cutest thing I could have asked, then he takes out his phone and sends a message. When he puts it away, he bumps shoulders with me. “You just want to teach her more smack talk,” he says with a smile. It’s an easy, carefree grin. The man has rolled with this change of date plans so easily. That’s new to me too—learning he has a good-with-anything attitude in these situations. And while I already knew he was a nice guy, to see him handle a babysitting date does next level things to my…well, to my…oh god, oh no…to my heart.
This is terrifying, but my heart is beating faster for him, especially as I see him with her. With a kid.
I feel warmer everywhere.
I set a hand on my chest, like that’ll slow these new emotions swimming through my bloodstream, making me feel like…champagne.
I let him walk ahead of me and will my pulse to settle.
He’s just a guy who’s good with kids.
He’s just a guy who wants the best for you.
He’s just a guy who knows how to say he’s sorry and mean it.
That doesn’t mean we’re going to be more than friends beyond our experiment, even though he’s the guy I want to spend the rest of the day with. And the night too.
I talk back to the thrumming in my heart for the next four holes until Mac lifts her club in the air, victorious at the end. Carter comes up to her, extends a hand to shake, and says, “Good game.”
“Yeah, well, I really like ice cream,” she says, no showboating, no trash talk.
He ruffles her hair. “Me too.”
And my heart flips one more time.
Mac has no interest in baking with me. The second Carter mentioned a raccoon jigsaw puzzle, she asked please, pretty please to do that instead. We swung by Carter’s to grab it, and now Carter and Mac are parked on my living room rug, finishing the border.
While the oven’s pre-heating, I have the best seat in the house to watch their game. As I whisk the melted chocolate in a bowl—we got the allergy all clear from Wilder—I steal glances at the pair across the room. Carter leans across the table and grabs a puzzle piece. “This is the little stinker we’ve been hunting,” he says, holding it up like discovered treasure.
“Yes!” She grabs it and slots it into place.
They high-five but don’t waste much time patting themselves on the back. “Now, we need to work on this big raccoon. He’s kind of plump,” Mac says.
“Yup, and he’s digging through the candy wrappers,” Carter agrees. His phone beeps with an alert, and he pauses to quickly check it, then sets the device back down. The pair searches in quiet cooperation while I fold the chocolate into the egg mixture, along with the flour.
“Oh! Here’s the rest of his tail,” Mac calls out.
“You’re a champ,” says Carter. “And look. I found most of the pieces for his belly.”
As I spoon the batter into floured and buttered ramekins, I listen to the soundtrack of their chatter like it’s the best kind of song.
“There. Done. Should we work on the trash can?” Carter asks.
“I bet we can do it super fast,” she says.
“No doubt. I bet we finish this whole thing in an hour.”
“Whoa!” Mac gawks in amazement. “You can do a puzzle in an hour?”
“Usually I can do a five-hundred-piece in under two. I figured with you, we’ll ace this in less than sixty minutes.”
“My daddy has never finished a puzzle,” she says, sounding awestruck.
Carter chuckles. “Your daddy has other skills.”
“He’s very good at reading books to me and braiding my hair,” she declares as she hunts for more pieces, presumably the trash can.
Carter swings his gaze to me, tossing me a sly look. “Me too. Hair braiding, that is.”
That warmth from earlier? It’s hotter now. And tinglier too. It’s stirring up thoughts and emotions that I’ve tried to tamp down for months. Feelings that arose when my marriage ended. Ones I don’t want to think about today.
I shove those risky thoughts into a corner of my mind.
Mac tilts her head Carter’s way. “Do you have a daughter?”
He shakes his head with a chuckle. “I have a little sister. Shelby’s in the Galápagos Islands working on her biology fellowship.”