"School." She looks perfectly serious as she draws.
Thorne sits down beside us and fishes a set of modeling clay out of the supply basket. When I arch a brow at him, he says, "I'm great at a lot of things, but I can't draw to save my life."
"Hear that, Rosie?" I nudge her. "You're already better at drawing than Thorne."
"Yup." She keeps coloring.
"Okay, Miss Picasso," he says. "What should I make?"
She wrinkles her nose for a half a second, then pops off with, "A pony."
He grins. "A pony? Can’t remember what one looks like off the top of my head. Will you draw one for me?"
"Okay." She flips her drawing paper over to the other side and starts to draw a pink and purple pony. "His nose is purple."
"Purple nose. I'm on it."
I put my colored pencil down and watch them going back and forth to make the perfect pink and purple pony. Alex Thorne is a bit of a riddle. He's theteam's golden boy, the guy with the answers, an all-around wunderkind who has 847 career points, two Stanley Cups, and a Conn Smythe Trophy on his mantle.
On top of that, he has a reputation for being an unserious fuckboy.
I feel like I'm seeing a third side of him, being let in on a secret. One that has nothing to do with hockey or sleeping around.
This Thorne is good with kids, genuinely interested as Rosie tells him a rambling story about something she learned at school. He's very patient, teasing, and kind. He’s been her godfather since birth. So at birthday parties and holidays, he’s been around her, interacting with her. But this is the first time that I’ve really seen him getting down on her level and listening to her.
He nods and asks questions about her life. He’s engaged.
This version of Alex Thorne makes me think that he's going to be a great dad.
Blushing, I try to keep my thoughts to myself. But Thorne looks up at me and catches my blush. I know because he gives me a salacious grin. He must be thinking that my mind is somewhere else. And whoops! Now it is.
He's a rule-breaker. And he's going to get us both in trouble if he doesn't play it cool.
Luckily, the doorbell rings. Thorne stands up. "Dinner's here."
We set up dinner at the kitchen table. Pizza, breadsticks, and a green salad. Beck left explicit instructions that Rosie can have a piece of pepperoni and mushroom pizza after she eats a small salad. To our delight, she doesn't push back on this. She devours the salad and is rewarded when I slide a plate full of pizza and a breadstick in front of her.
Thorne eats beside her, teasing her, occasionally poking a finger into her ribs until she bursts into giggles. It's pretty endearing.
Ah!A shooting pain radiates from my ankle. I stop and rub my right ankle. My movements are mechanical and perfunctory; I’ve done this a zillion times.
“You okay?” I look up to find Alex looking at me with concern.
“Yeah.” I play it off like it’s no big deal, because it isn’t. It’s just a little pain. “Just a spasm.”
It’s a lie, but we’re supposed to be focused on Rosie, not babying my freaking ankle. As we are cleaning up and Rosie heads off to change into jammies, I smile at him. "You're great with her."
"There's a reason that I'm the godfather." He casually rinses off the colorful plates and forks. "I love kids."
"Yeah?" I stack dirty napkins and the empty pizza box. "You want one, I'm assuming."
“Very subtle,” he teases.
My eyes widen. “What? It’s just a question!”
“Uh huh.” He shakes his head. "But to answer your question, yes. Being the only kid is lonely. I wanta big family. If I met the right partner, I'd have a dozen kids. Old school Catholic family style, all on top of each other."
I snort. "You would say that. You'll never have to be pregnant with any of them."
