Page 11 of The Big Puck

Since before Moe, which means before I was out of my braces. I think I gave Moe brownie points for wanting to kiss me, although he knew me when I had crooked teeth, then braces, and a lopsided silver-studded smile because this was before invisible braces were a thing. I’m still that little girl with the flawed smile, the one who smiled big no matter if my teeth were crooked or braced and let people judge me if they wanted to, uncaring, or more likely, oblivious to the judgment. At least until I was sixteen. But let’s not go there.

Why does my mind always go there?

“Fine,” Jason says. “Let’s go, Lainey. We’ll talk about this at…the hotel.”

“You don’t have a place yet?” Spencer asks. I get the feeling he’s concerned, like an uncle or big brother more than a coach, and I wonder how long that’s going to last.

“Not yet. Lainey was going to meet with a realtor—”

“Tomorrow,” I say. “I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m sure the realtor won’t mind if I bring Krissy along.”

“Do you have a car?” Spence asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“No,” Jason says at the same time, and he gives me a skeptical look.

“I was going to say you can use my car.” Spence looks between me and Jason and then back to me. “That was going to be the arrangement with the agency nanny. I’ll be using my Aunt Hildie’s car.”

A smile pops unbidden. “I think I’m going to enjoy this nanny gig.”

Spence nods. No smile, no comment, and he waits for someone else to say or do something, and I can’t help my compulsion to fill the empty air with words because I feel the tension filling in. Jason doesn’t help, staring between me and Spencer with his hands on his hips like he’s dad’s clone.

“It’ll be fun,” I add, then feel a need to explain. “Kind of like playing house when I was a kid, only with a real baby, only…” I let my words run out because I’m listening to myself, implying that I’m playing at being a housewife-mother to Spence’s daddy. My heart speeds up, racing to get out of my chest, and I put a hand over it to hold it in place.

“I mean, I love taking care of babies, and I know I’ll enjoy the heck out of it.”

Jason puts an arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay, Lainey,” he murmurs. “You’ll have your own kids one day.”

My big brother saves me from myself not for the first time, understanding my deep longing for children, to be the mother of a big family—and how I recently came close to my dream only to have it dashed. I blink away unexpected tears, then hug Jason back as a smile of appreciation for his support lifts me up.

Spence clears his throat. “Let me know tonight. As soon as possible.” He hands the folder to me, and I take it, unimpeded by my brother.

“Definitely. I can tell you right now—”

He shakes his head. “Take your time and read it over.”

I nod.

Jason grunts. “Let’s go. I’m starved.’

Spence opens the front door for us, and we clatter down the front stairs. When I get to the bottom on the walkway heading to Jason’s car, I turn, mostly because I need one last look at the brooding beauty of a man.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Boss-man.” I wave, throwing my biggest grin his way in hopes of some inkling or shadow of a smile in response.

He turns away without a nod and closes his door.

Chapter 4

SPENCER

Shit. Hiring Lainey Hall could be the biggest mistake of my life. That’s the melodramatic thought running through my head as I tip the baby bottle and watch a few drops of baby formula fall into the sink. It’s the thought drumming on autopilot since the girl left my house, since she turned that sassy sunbeam smile on me and called me Boss-man as she promised to see me tomorrow. That was two burgers and one diaper change ago. The burgers were mine, and the diaper was Krissy’s.

My mind leaps to a time in the distant future when that dynamic could reverse, and I shudder. Fuck. Don’t go there. Put one foot in front of the other and get this done.

“Why do I have a bad feeling about hiring Lainey, Krissy?” The baby grins at me from her baby lounge chair—or whatever they call it—perched on the kitchen counter top while I sprinkle some formula from her bottle on my wrist. Aunt Hildie told me this was the test for the right temperature, but, like everything else involving the care of a baby, I have no idea if the temperature feels right.

Using the Goldilocks judgment method, I figure it isn’t too cold or hot, so it must be right.