Page 13 of The Big Puck

“Good. He can give me a ride to the rink, and I’ll leave my Jeep with you until I pick up my Aunt Hildie’s car later. I’ll need you to get a few groceries—”

“Don’t worry, Spence.” Her voice is soft and her sass gone. “We got this. Krissy will be fine. You’re doing the right thing. You do you, and I’ll do me, and Krissy will be the luckiest kid alive by the time her Aunt Hildie arrives.” Conviction drapes her words more than bluster, and I listen, letting them sink in and understanding that she believes what she says with absolute certainty and that she has the chops to carry it off.

Don’t get in her way. Let Lainey Hall do Lainey Hall.

Of course, I’d feel better as we end the call if I knew who the hell Lainey Hall was besides the basic facts and a handful of conversations worth of sass and assurances.

I head to bed with the question of who she is, and what kind of person she is.

The biggest question of all is, why did she come to Portsmouth with her brother for a new start? What is she running from? Because my spidey sense tells me she’s running from something.

What could Lainey Hall be running away from?

Maybe I should have asked her that question before I hired her.

Chapter 5

LAINEY

Arriving with Jason at the appointed time, we carry my things inside, unlock the front door with my new key, and leave them in the front hall for now. I’m wearing a sundress in celebration of the summery weather, and after I put down my box and stand, Spencer walks in the room dressed up in a suit and tie with no Krissy in sight.

He does a double-take, and his eyes pop as he takes me in. The heat of his gaze as he looks me up and down makes my body blaze like I’ve never felt before under a man’s stare. And, oh yes, I’ve had many a man stare at me, whistle, make crazy or lewd comments, the works. As Jason stacks the last of my boxes—yes, I lied about having only one box—I hold my breath, waiting for Spence-the-hunk—er, I mean, Boss-man, to speak first. His normally golden hazel eyes go dark, causing the nerves along my spine to tingle like a mini-electrocution.

“Krissy will probably spit up and ruin that dress,” he says.

My nerves crash from excited to disappointed. But what do I care what he thinks? I’m better off now that he’s cool and self-controlled. Except I’d bet half my trust fund that he’s thinking something entirely different than his words would indicate.

It’s not that I’m into him. I don’t need his approval. It’s just that I prefer to think that he loves my dress. But I can be cool, too. Because I am cool.

I shrug. “I’m not worried about it. I have a cloth to throw over my shoulder. I’m in a sunny mood today, so I had to wear a yellow sundress.” It’s covered in daisies and maybe a little over the top with the Pollyanna vibe, but I couldn’t help myself because this home needs all the positive vibes it can get to counter the darkness that Spencer and Krissy inherited with her father’s death. I don’t know the story about Krissy’s mother, but I don’t bother asking one-word-answer Boss-man.

He nods and mumbles something like when are you not in a sunny mood, and says nothing else, proving my point. Maybe I can get the intel from Aunt Hildie.

“It occurs to me that maybe I should keep your Aunt Hildie in the loop with Krissy.” What I really mean is that the woman can probably use some cheering up with baby facetime and photos. “Would you mind giving me her number?”

“I don’t know.” His forehead scrunches to a pre-scowl. “She’s convalescing.”

“It’s her hip, right? She didn’t have a stroke or head injury, right?”

“No.” The man almost smiles at my irreverence—of course, he’d find that amusing. Still, I can’t count the half-quirk of his mouth as an actual smile.

“Fine,” I say. “Give her my number, and she can call me if she feels up to it. How’s that?

He nods, bringing down the average word-count for his responses. Shit.

“Then you won’t have to worry about keeping her up-to-date with Krissy’s development—”

“Is that a thing?” He looks skeptical.

“Of course. Babies change very fast in their first year. I can send Aunt Hildie pictures, too. I’m sure she’ll enjoy that.”

He grunts, and for some deeply disturbing reason, his grunt pulls at my heartstrings—and not because he’s Adonis reincarnated—rather, it’s his preoccupation with sadness and needing to prove himself and inheriting the awesome responsibility of raising a baby girl alone. The poor man. I mean that sincerely.

Because I have absolutely no designs on any man. Especially not my new boss. I’m so ready to stand on my own two feet right now, and being on the verge of independence has me more excited and generous than normal.

That must be it because, normally, even I would give Mr. Grumpy a little more sass and a little less generosity.

Jason says, “Shouldn’t we get going, Coach?”