Page 71 of Big Dill

She doesn’t notice me at first.

She’s crouched in front of a low wooden cubby, sliding the last few picture books into place, aligning their spines with careful precision. I take it all in—the bright, playful space she’s built from the tiniest budget and her imagination. Colorful foam mats cover the floor in cheerful blocks. Bins of toys are labeled in her neat handwriting. There’s the faint, comforting scent of crayons and fresh linens, the kind that tells you this place is safe. Welcoming. Homey. A room meant for laughter and scraped knees and parents who want to play without worrying.

But the best thing in the room—the thing that holds my attention and refuses to let go—isn’t the space at all.

It’s Jami.

She’s humming softly to herself, some tuneless little melody that tells me she’s happy. Really happy. Lost in the moment. Hair pulled back in a messy tie, face freshly washed and completely makeup-free. Yoga pants, a long-sleeved cotton shirt pushed up at the wrists. Comfortable. Effortless.

Beautiful.

Honestly, she couldn’t look more stunning if she tried, and that’s what made it so hard to keep my hands to myself these last couple of weeks. I step inside, the floor barely creaking beneath my shoes, and her head snaps up. Her face lights, like I’ve flipped a switch.

“Sorry,” I say, even though I’m not. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Brody!” she says, loud and excited, like my presence is the best surprise she’s had all day. “The fabric came.” She practically bounces in place as she tells me, hands flying. “I can’t wait to get started.”

“The fabric for…” I trail off, glancing around the room, trying to connect the dots. “What exactly?”

“Our new line,” she says quickly, poking me in the chest. “What did you think I meant?”

“I don’t know,” I say, holding up my hands and making a small square shape. “Something for the kids. Tiny sewing machines. Lessons. Honestly, I wouldn’t put anything past you.” I snort out a mocking laugh. “You’re the one who was talking about marrying Liam with ferrets and goldfish in attendance.”

“Did someone say my name?”

Oh. Shit.

I spin around and silently pray to fucking God he didn’t hear that part. Deep down, Liam’s a decent guy. The kind you don’t want to accidentally emotionally maim in a childcare room.

“Oh no,” Jami says smoothly, not missing a beat. “We were talking about a different Liam.” She flashes him a bright smile. “What brings you by?”

He twirls a pickleball paddle in his hand. “Game. Want to play later?”

“Can’t,” she says. “Yoga class, and then Brody and I have a game in—” She checks the time on her phone. “Two hours.”

“We could play doubles,” he offers. “I’m sure I could find a partner. I saw Jaxon talking to Rachel. Maybe one of them will be free.”

Jami scrunches her nose, the way she does when she’s being honest but trying not to disappoint anyone. “I’m still learning. And I’m still pretty horrible.”

“No worries,” he says easily. “I’ll make sure we don’t go too hard on you.”

I don’t know why, but something about the way he says that makes my jaw tighten.

She blinks up at me, wide-eyed and innocent, and I shrug. What the hell am I supposed to do? Any more hedging or dodging is going to raise suspicion.

“Yeah, uh… okay,” she says with a nod. “Sounds good.”

Liam lingers in the doorway, like he’s weighing whether to step inside or just hover there awkwardly. “Listen,” he says, voice casual but hopeful. “Want to grab dinner later?”

Shit. I feel a little twinge of sympathy for the guy.

“Can’t,” Jami says quickly. “Eating at my desk. Childcare tonight.” She jerks her thumb toward the window. “I’ll probably just grab a salad from the café.”

He laughs, the kind of warm laugh that makes it hard to hate him. The truth is I don’t hate him. I just don’t want him with Jami.

Dude, you don’t want any man with Jami.

“It’s hard to nail down a time with you,” he says. “How’s your Saturday night looking?”