“If you think your ex might be there on Thursdays to give you a hard time, it shouldn’t just be you and your boss he has to deal with.” If he’s the kind of shitbag I think he is, he’s probably already looking to teach Nina’s boss a lesson for kicking him out of her restaurant.
Nina seems to consider this. And, unless I’m wrong, Stella looks impressed.
Yeah, that doesn’t suck.
“That your phone?” I nod to the cell on the coffee table in front of Nina.
“Yeah.”
I give her my number. “I got you covered on Thursdays, but if you need help any other time, just call.”
Judging by the glint in Stella’s eyes, I’m not wrong. She’s impressed.
Nope, that doesn’t suck at all.
ChapterEleven
STELLA
Tyler’susual Wednesday OT appointment gets pushed to Thursday. This normally isn’t a big deal if I’m not booked solid, and today I’m not. So I pick up Maisy early from aftercare so we can spend some time together at the park while Tyler has his appointment. But as soon as I see her, I know it’s going to be a rough afternoon.
“She didn’t take a nap,” Riley, the preschool aid, tells me as she’s putting Maisy in the car.
“No nap?” I ask my daughter.
Maisy’s sullen shrug is all the confirmation I need.
“Want to go to the park while Uncle T does his exercise?”
She perks up a little. “Can we feed the ducks?”
“Sure.” I make a mental note to nab some bread from the house when we pick up Tyler.
Of course, Maisy falls asleep on the ride to the occupational therapist’s, and when I have to take her out of the car to get Tyler checked in, she’s a whimpering, fussy mess.
While she’s whining in my ear, the receptionist informs me that Tyler’s usual therapist, Bobbi, is still out, so he’ll be working with Tod today.
My brother grunts beside me. He hates Tod.
Shit.
I glance over at him, swaying Maisy on my hip to try to soothe her. “Want to reschedule?” I ask under my breath. Even as I ask, I have no idea when that would be. He doesn’t need to miss a week, and my next few days are jam packed at the salon.
Tyler’s brows are lowered in irritation, but I see when his thoughts go inward. He meets my eyes and shakes his head.
“That’s the spirit,” I say, grinning.
“Hmph,”he mutters sourly, making me chuckle.
Maisy and I head off to the park for an hour of duck-dominated disappointment.
The first ten minutes are grand. Maisy is a hit at the duck pond—the only person in the whole park with a fat bag of sandwich bread. We are in the epicenter of a quacking, gently quarreling flock, Maisy giggling and me snapping pictures on my phone. And then—
“INCOMING! AAAAAAAGH!”
Two boys who can’t be older than fourteen charge the flock. Ducks honk, splash violently, and flap their way into flight, barely missing our faces in their escape.
“Jesus Christ!” I shriek, yanking Maisy against my chest and shielding her head with my arms.
