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What then?
Thankfully, Liam and Amelia are nowhere in sight. I grab a beer from the fridge and take a long, cold pull. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me? I feel like death warmed over, but apparently, I have enough energy to pop a half-chub thinking about my nanny’s panty lines (or lack thereof).
I gotta stop thinking about this shit. So naturally, I think about Amelia’s bogus take on nursery rhymes instead. Being up all night with a two-year-old isn’t what I’d call fun. But trading adult-flavored lyrics to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?
Not gonna lie, that was fun. Even now, I can’t help smiling at the memory of Amelia’s lyrics. They were cheesy as hell but also witty in that unself-conscious, adorable way of hers. She made me laugh when I felt like crying, and the idea that she did that on purpose—that she gave enough of a shit not to only rush over at 2 A.M. but also to crack jokes to get me to smile—has me feeling downright squishy inside.
Am I in trouble?
Fuck me, I cannot get into trouble. Not now, and not with this woman.
I’m gulping the rest of my beer when I hear it: a scream, followed in short order by a grunt.
My blood rushes cold. My already fertile imagination shifts into overdrive. What if Liam fell? What if he broke something? I was an accident-prone kid, starting with a broken ankle at thirteen months after I launched myself off my parents’ bed in the middle of a diaper change.
And if Amelia’s hurt, or she can’t help Liam because something happened—
My half-empty beer lands with a clack on the counter. I sprint toward the direction of the sound, pushing through my back door onto the porch.
I scan the length of my backyard and draw up short, heart tripping. There, on a flat expanse of grass, are Amelia and Liam, giggling like lunatics in the shade of an oak tree as Amelia helps Liam hit a bright orange shuttlecock-birdie thing with a racquet. There’s a canvas bag off to the side, a net spilling out of the open zipper.
The badminton set I bought a while back. For a party, I think? Whatever the case, I never used it.
I flatten my hand over my chest. Let out a breath.
Liam and Amelia are safe. Thank fuck.
Not only that, it looks like they’re having a blast together.
“Good job!” Amelia says as Liam runs after the birdie, yelping with joy when he finds it buried in the grass. “You’re practically Forrest Gump at this point, Liam.”
They haven’t seen me yet, so I could easily go back inside. Finish my beer, maybe scroll dead-eyed on my phone for a bit.
Instead, my feet start moving toward Liam and Amelia, taking me down the steps. I can’t explain it. I’m drawn to something that’s going down here. Sunshine? My kid’s smile?
Whatever the case, I want to be a part of it.
Shoes catching in the grass, I say, “Didn’t Forrest play Ping-Pong?”
Amelia, who’s bent over Liam and is about to help him hit the birdie again, looks up. Our eyes lock across the sun-dusted expanse of the yard, and a sudden, merciless rush hits me square in the chest. I reach for air, scrambling to draw a breath, but come up empty.
I’ve always thought Amelia was beautiful. But right now—brown eyes lit up, wavy hair everywhere, smile growing—she’s a fucking stunner.
The space between us simultaneously expands and contracts on a swell of feeling.
I can’t.
But God, do I want to. Right now, I wanna erase the space between us and take her face in my hands and do . . . everything.
“Same idea.” Amelia’s hand is clasped around Liam’s on the racquet handle, and together they lift it. He smiles at me, toothy and big, and the swell of feeling grows. “Ready to get your heinie handed to you, Vader?”
“Let’s see what y’all got, Jabba.” I jog over to the bag and grab a racquet. “No net?”
Amelia’s smile moves into a teasing grin. “Liam’s on the shorter side like his daddy, so no net. Not yet, anyway.”
I crouch in front of Liam and give his tummy a tickle, just like Amelia did. He pulls back a little, pressing against Amelia’s legs, but his smile deepens, and Lord, if I don’t smile so hard myself, I feel like my face’ll crack in two.
Okay, maybe this parenthood thing isn’t a total hellscape.
“Son, it’s not the size of the boat that matters, but the ride it provides. Got that? So keep your engine clean and your gas tank full, little Yoda, and you’ll keep the fish in your sea content.”
“You’re talking about badminton, right?”
“Of course.” I swipe a stray birdie off the ground and straighten. “What did you think I was talking about?”
Amelia scoffs, rolling her eyes. “So Liam’s Yoda.”
