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Bryce remained silent, staring alternately at him and the cardboard pirate ship gleaming red in his taillights and the exhaust coming out in the chilly air, making it look all mysterious, like it was floating in the mist. The little girls tugged at Bryce’s arms, their slippered-pajama feet making swishy noises on the concrete steps as they jigged about, buoyant with excitement and shrieking their questions about whether they could play in it or not.
But their aunt only stared at the pirate ship. Mute. Unsmiling.
Ryker’s heart plummeted to his knees.
He’d screwed up. What had he been thinking? She was an employee. In retrospect, he shouldn’t have put her in this position with his mom. Where the hell was Bryce going to put those boxes when the next delivery came? She’d have to trash them, and then she’d be the bad guy. Or maybe Bryce didn’t want the girls playing in the alleyway, because then she’d have to stay out here to watch them, which meant she wouldn’t get any work done, and would be more stressed…
Shit. He hadn’t thought it through. He’d been hyper-focused on making something awesome for the girls and showing Bryce he was sorry.
Epic. Fail.
While he wanted to slink back to his truck and leave, his Marine training wouldn’t allow it. He never shied away from doing hard things. Even if it meant facing a gorgeous woman dressed in a loose-fitting Buffalo Sabres hockey jersey that hung to the middle of her thighs and a blue pair of those fluffy socks that looked like they’d never fit into a pair of shoes. She wore what his mom would call “comfort clothes,” and knowing he’d come over and ruined that vibe made his guts churn.
Addison and Cecily abandoned their quest for permission and launched themselves into the pirate ship. He’d made sure to pad the bottom with extra cardboard, ripping out every single box staple and running his big magnetic sweeper from his shop over the whole thing to double check all metal was removed. While he might not have thought out the placement of this ship, he’d made sure it wouldn’t give anybody tetanus.
June was the only one still in what appeared to be school clothes—dark jeans, those zombie-stomper boots, and a long-sleeved black T-shirt with a dude in a Jason mask wielding a spoon over a bowl of Cheerios with the wordsCereal Killeron the front.
“Impressive.” June managed to look dazzled and snarky at the same time. “I like the change to the Jolly Roger’s skull—giving it pigtails and hairbows was genius. You should start your own YouTube channel: Cardboard My Life, or something. You’d totally win.”
Ryker decided to take that as a compliment. He pulled a three-inch-thick rubber-banded pack of paper from atop the file folder on his truck’s tailgate and handed it to the twelve-year-old.
“This is for you. It’s the proof pages for Drake’s next horror book,March’s Madness. In essence, an early copy.” Ryker paused to look at Bryce, who stared stoically ahead. “Full disclosure: I haven’t read it. Drake said it’s about the wife of a famous basketball player who discovers her husband leads a creepy double life off court. Figured a fan like you would enjoy first dibs.”
June took the huge stack of papers, her sarcastic expression fading into one of childlike wonder. She moved the rubber band, reading the hand-scrawled words on the title page.
To June: May you never look at a basketball the same way again. Best—Drake.
The older girl stood there, staring at the printed manuscript in her arms, then clutched it to her chest, finally meeting his eyes. He was startled to see tears pooled there, and her chin wobbled as she spoke three words.
“This. Is. LIFE!”
With that, she bolted inside the restaurant. A moment later, her whoop of joy rang out, rivaling those of her sisters, who were still exploring the cardboard confines of the ship.
“Wow, you’re like the Wizard of Oz.” Bryce seemed to be looking everywhere but at him as she gave a mirthless laugh. “The bringer of joy. The provider of play. I used to hold those titles. Now I’m a giant fun vacuum, sucking the happiness from my nieces’ lives on a regular basis.”
He wanted to call bullshit. But he was already mired in mistakes and wasn’t about to argue that she was doing an incredible job under some crap-tastic circumstances. Instead, he grabbed the last thing in his truck bed: the file folder.
Breathing through the fear and nausea, he squared his shoulders and thrust the sheaf of papers at her, then adjusted the brim of his ball cap, waiting. In exactly fifteen seconds, he would have completed tonight’s mission and could retreat to his garage.
“What’s this?” Bryce took the papers, her eyebrows drawing together.
“The rest of my apology. Paperwork is done for me to transport your nieces to and from school, should you ever need me to. And I did the volunteer stuff, too, in case you needed a tutor or someone to go on a field trip, or whatever.”
Bryce flipped through, looking puzzled. “But this says you completed all the volunteer classes and were background checked. How in the world did you do all that since…yesterday? It took me three weeks when I moved here to get that crap situated.”
Ryker shrugged. “Small towns. Everyone knows me, my family, my situation. Sometimes it comes in handy to expedite things. Like this.”
Bryce dropped her gaze. No smile.
Time to count his losses and vamoose. “I should go. I just wanted to say sorry.” He gave a curt nod, slammed the tailgate shut, and climbed into his truck, all the while bitching himself out in his mind. Why had he thought this woman would be different? That he could slide in and do real-boy things? As if.
He’d just backed out of the driveway when he saw Bryce coming after him. He hit the brakes, the rubber squealing a little on the pavement. Ryker rolled down his window.
She leaned through the open window toward him. She wound her fist into the front of his shirt and yanked it until their faces were inches apart. For one wild, glorious second, he thought she was going to kiss him. Instead, she narrowed her eyes.
“I can’t stand liars, cheats, and people who don’t keep their cooking stations clean. Do we understand each other?” Her face was stern and she looked like some sort of war goddess.
It was hot as hell.
