Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Are you going to enroll her in school when you get back? Assuming you win.”
“Yes, assuming I win,” he says gruffly, and I can hear in his voice he’s going to be devastated if he doesn’t.
“At least she’ll have school to distract her a bit. Even though it’s a new school, it’s structured and that will provide some comfort. But I’ll give her extra attention and make it a good time.”
“She’s a strong kid and very independent. I’m sure it will be fine.”
The kitchen door opens and Leo steps out onto the patio. The top part of his longish hair is pulled into a ponytail, the rest left to hang down just above his shoulders. He’s got on a Ramones T-shirt and a pair of frayed cargo shorts with flip-flops. He’s got a beer in his hand and because he’s so comfortable in my house, having practically grown up here, I’m sure he went and fished that out of the fridge on his own.
My eyes are on Leo who kicks a chair out opposite from where I’m sitting and plops down. I say to Foster, “How about you call me after the hearing tomorrow and let me know if I have a job?”
“It’s a plan,” he replies, relief evident in his tone.
The slight fullness in my chest tells me that I feel good about helping him, and that he really needed me to further his quest to get his daughter. “Good luck, Foster.”
“Thank you, Mazzy. Talk tomorrow.”
We disconnect and Leo stares at me from across the table. “What was that about?”
“Nosy,” I chide, but then fill him in on my interview with Foster, my doubts about the other job and the most recent conversation. “So tomorrow, if he gets custody of his daughter, I’ll have a job with them.”
Leo pulls at the label on his bottle. “And if he doesn’t win?”
“Then I’ll be job hunting again.” There… the absolute validation I needed that the other job offer just didn’t feel right—the circumstances and the father’s personality. I wouldn’t have liked it at all.
Which means I need to decline that job. “Why don’t you get me a beer? I’ve got one more call to make.”
“Go get your own beer,” he replies, slouching further in his seat and grinning at me.
I kick him under the table, hitting his shin, and he yelps, scrambling backward. “Go get me a beer,” I reply. “You’re here eating my family’s food and sucking on our happiness. It’s the least you can do.”
“Bitch,” Leo says, but it’s done fondly and with a quirk to his lips. As he heads back inside, I flip through my contacts so I can make the call that could leave me completely unemployed for the near future.
While I advised the family that I’d accepted another offer—much to the husband’s dismay and he let me know it in unkind terms—Leo fetched me a beer and set it before me. He resumed his seat at the table and when I finished the call, he asked, “So you’re going to nanny for a single dad, huh?”
“Hopefully,” I say as I pick up the beer and take a sip.
“That’s a bit different from what you’re used to doing.”
His tone is almost… accusing. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean… single professional hockey player and you swooping in to be mother to his child.”
I kick Leo under the table again, this time not playfully, and he winces, sitting up straighter in his chair. “You better not be inferring what I think you’re inferring,” I warn.
“And what might that be?” he grumbles, bending over to rub at his leg.
“That I’m looking to score a rich husband or something like that,” I snap.
Leo’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, words sharp as a knife. “Fuck no, Mazz. I’m worried about him taking advantage of you.”
“What?” I exclaim. “No. That’s silly. Foster’s a nice guy and—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. They’re all nice guys. I’ve heard it before. But I also know how men react around you—”
“You’re crazy! Men don’t react around me—”
“Men trip over themselves around you and you know it,” he accuses. “You’re gorgeous, smart, talented and then you add on that you’re going to be nurturing and caring for his kid, well, that’s a recipe for him wanting to get in your pants.”
“Jesus, Leo… did you hit your head or something? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Leo shrugs but before he can answer, the kitchen door opens and Brian steps out, followed by his wife. Brian has the platter of fried chicken and Susan has a bowl of fresh pickled cucumbers and Vidalia onions.
But not the Vidalia onions that grow in Georgia. The Pittsburgh grocery stores don’t have the good ones. I can practically hear my mom praising one of the finest products of her southern home. “We grow Vidalia onions so sweet you can pull them out of the ground and eat them like an apple.”