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“Come on. I figured that’d be easiest on you since you wouldn’t need to get a babysitter. And I really am harmless. Ask Tessa. You think your boss would let me work around the kids if she thought there was anything to worry about?”
Oakley blew out a breath. Of course Tessa wouldn’t. The background check process was extensive. Oakley had almost backed out of the job when she’d realized she’d have to reveal the truth about her past to Tessa in order to get hired. But Tessa had thankfully been very understanding and hadn’t brought up anything since.
Regardless, did Oakley want Pike at her house? She only had a little while before she’d need to put Reagan to bed and get on the phone. Last night had already been too close of a call.
However, the work had to get done and if he was going to be gone all weekend, they’d be even more behind next week when she had to report progress to Tessa. “Fine. But you can only stay a little while.”
“Deal.”
She rattled off her address, hung up, and glanced down at what she was wearing—a worn-out Mickey Mouse T-shirt and yoga pants. Very sexy. She ignored the ridiculous instinct to rush to her room and put something more flattering on. If he wanted to stop by last-minute, then he could deal with the true-to-life version of herself. Plus, she could use all the armor available to her. This outfit said loud and clear that this was not anything more than a planning session.
Now if she could just convince her racing heart of that.
When Pike walked up to the door of Oakley’s small clap board house, music drifted through the slightly open window. He tilted his head, recognizing the dulcet tones of Oakley’s voice singing along with a guitar. Nice. He closed his eyes, straining to pick out the words.
Take my wish, pluck it from the air, plant it with your hands, and let it bloom …
The song was upbeat but had a yearning to it that made it almost sad. Wistful.
Blow it away, blow me away. Watch us fade away.
Pike hummed along with the chorus, picking up the patter
n of notes quickly, and inserting a matching drumbeat in his head. Huh, the song was a catchy little thing. Sweet and raw. Like a Jewel tune with an updated rhythm.
He hated to knock and interrupt, but the next-door neighbor had stepped onto her porch and was sending him an evaluating glare. He was used to that look. He’d gotten it as a kid when he’d walk through his friend Foster’s gated neighborhood. The blond kid with the thrift store clothes and the punk rock hair did not belong. He resisted the urge to lift the pizza boxes to neighbor lady and let her know he wasn’t there to steal or pillage anything but to deliver gifts.
The music stopped and Oakley answered the door a minute later. Her dark hair was piled on her head in a haphazard bun and her T-shirt looked liked it’d seen better days—probably in the nineties. But she looked ten times sexier than she had in that boring work outfit. Now he could see the details of the tempting curves beneath the thin shirt and yoga pants—all woman. All the way down to the bright pink polish on her toes.
“I didn’t realize I was supposed to dress for a slumber party,” he said, allowing himself another head to toenail perusal. “I would’ve brought my footed pajamas.”
“You come to my house after seven. This is what you get.”
“Well, lucky, lucky me.”
She shook her head. “I swear, you could flirt with a tree stump.”
He handed her the pizzas. “Why do that when I can have fun annoying you?”
With a sigh, she opened the door wider and let him come inside. He shut it behind him while Oakley handed Reagan the pizza boxes. “Baby, you remember Mr. Ryland?”
Reagan nodded and shifted her weight to the other foot. “Hi, Mr. Ryland.”
Her gaze was so serious, so … adult. Those old soul eyes made him forget how uncomfortable he was around kids. “If it’s okay with your mom, you can call me Pike.”
Reagan looked up at her mother and Oakley nodded. “That’s fine.”
“Why are you bringing us pizza, Mr. Pike?” Reagan asked. All bluntness.
He didn’t bother correcting her that he’d meant she could drop the mister. “To get on you and your mom’s good side.”
Reagan’s lips twitched into a little smile. “You’d have to bring dessert for that.”
He laughed. “I’ll remember that for next time.”
“Can I eat another dinner, Mom?” Reagan asked, clutching the pizzas like she was afraid she’d have to give them back.
“Sure. Why don’t you bring them in the kitchen and get out some paper plates? We’ll be there in a minute.”
