a big hit on my friend’s blog.”
“Blog?”
“She posts pictures of hot guys spotted around town.”
He couldn’t repress the twitch of his lips. “You think I’m a hot guy?”
Monica huffed and he chuckled, more than happy to let her off the hook once he had an advantage.
Opening the contacts list, he typed in his name and number. “Listen, see what you can do about the crumpet here, and let me know. Okay?”
“Colm, I’m not—”
“Daddy, I’m soooooooo hungry,” Aiden whispered, holding his belly for emphasis.
Swooping his boy up, he settled Aiden squarely on his shoulders. “Call if yes. Text if you’re rejecting me,” he said, backing away. “I’m sure you don’t wanna hear a grown man cry.”
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you an ugly crier? I bet he is,” she confided to the little girl at her side. “I bet he gets all snotty and gross. Boys are, you know.”
He grinned, barely minding when Aiden sank his fingers into his hair and yanked. Hard. “Call me, and you won’t have to worry about things getting ugly.”
Chapter 2
“Seriously? So you didn’t tell him? You let him believe Emma was your kid?”
Monica thought she’d prepared herself for confession and interrogation, but Mel was in rare form. She was also incandescent. Monica chose not to dwell on what caused her sister to glow as if lit by a candle. If only she could bleach the memory of her brother-in-law Jeremy’s too-wide smile from her brain.
“I tried, but we kept getting interrupted, and the next thing I knew, he was gone,” Monica explained, trying to control the exasperation in her tone.
“Like, poof! Presto! A big puff of smoke and nothing left but a scorch mark on the grass?”
Raking her hand through her hair, Monica dropped onto the sofa. “Not quite, but close.” She hefted her overstuffed Marc Jacobs tote to the coffee table and started extracting all evidence of her day with her niece. “Well, you know…His friends were there, and the kids were whining, I wasn’t going to stand there and scream, ‘Hey, hot guy! I’m not this kid’s mom!’ in the middle of the park.” She turned to glance at her niece, who was kneeling at the side of the table inspecting every juice box, hair band, and baggie Monica dropped to its surface. “No offense, kiddo.”
Unperturbed, Emma held up a bag of cheese crackers shaped like bunny rabbits. “Can I have these?”
Monica blinked, visions of the overpriced sandwiches and petit fours the little girl had left uneaten thirty minutes ago dancing in her head. “I thought you said you weren’t hungry.”
Emma shrugged and hopped to her feet. “I am now.”
Luckily, Mel’s husband was adept at avoiding sisterly conversations. He scooped up Emma, his I-got-some smile stretching into a grin as the little girl squealed and squirmed with delight. “C’mon. We’ll rustle up a PB&J to go with those.”
The kitchen door barely swung closed. Mel was on her again, her flyaway blond hair even more flighty than usual. “So are you going to call him?”
Shifting her tablet a little to the left to make room for her paper planner, she tucked the tiny spiral notebook she kept on hand at all times into the side pocket of the tote. Sparing her sister a glance from under the curtain of her hair, she mumbled, “I want to.”
“You’re going to have to tell him,” Melody said, fixing her with a disconcerting stare.
Somehow, Monica always managed to underestimate the amount of steel in her free-spirited sister’s spine. Mel seldom showed the tougher side of her personality. She preferred to go through life as if the whole world were populated with rainbow-colored unicorns. Even in the weekly yoga class they took together, Melody soaked up the plinky new-age music and threw herself into the deep breathing exercises and Oms. Monica usually spent most of the relaxation portion of the class figuring out subtle ways to throw a few Pilates moves in to save herself the time of taking another class. Hard to believe a woman clad in faded yoga pants, a tie-dyed Peace Frogs T-shirt, and a pair of fuzzy socks she claimed were infused with shea butter or aloe or some such nonsense kept a stare so potent stashed in her arsenal.
“I’ll tell him.” Monica returned the stare with what felt like an adequate amount of gravitas but had a hard time fighting the urge to smile. “But can I wait until after?”
Mel blinked. “After? After what? The date?”
Monica waggled her eyebrows but held her sister’s gaze as she gave her head a slow shake. “No…after.” Without breaking eye contact, she woke her phone from its electronic slumber and tapped the button to open the camera app. She held the phone out but kept her focus locked on her sister even after Melody’s gaze dropped to the screen and she gasped.
“Holy cra...crêpes,” she corrected at the last second.
“Crêpes?”
“Last week, I heard Emma tell some poor kid at tumbling her somersaults looked like crap, so I have to watch my language.” Mel darted a glance at the kitchen door, then lunged for the phone. Cradling the cell in both hands, she openly gaped at the picture of Colm. “This is him? For real?”
“For real.” Sinking into the couch cushions, Monica let loose with a gusty sigh. “You see why I want to delay the inevitable a bit?”
Mel stared at the phone for a moment longer. Tapping the button to close the app, she handed the cell over. “What makes you think the inevitable is bad? Most guys would be happy to find out the woman he’s interested in isn’t saddled with a kid.”
Wrinkling her nose, Monica gave the possibility a moment’s consideration. “I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “For some reason, I get the feeling the kid thing is part of the appeal for him.”
“Like he has a mommy fetish?”
Monica laughed, tickled by the leaps her sister’s mind made. “Maybe he’s looking for a new mommy for Aiden.”
Melody’s eyes widened as she barked a laugh. “You?”
Her sister’s ready dismissal of her potential stung a little, but Monica couldn’t truly disagree with the assessment. “No, not me. Definitely not me.”
Motherhood had never been a part of her life plan. Marriage was a possibility, but she always saw herself more as a half of a power couple than a cozy nester couple like her sister and Jeremy. Either way, their lifestyles were a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turnaround from the chaos they grew up in.
Jeremy was a dentist with a thriving practice and a well-respected reputation. His success allowed Mel the freedom to be a full-time mommy and artist when she felt like it. The arrangement suited them both to perfection. But Monica always saw herself as a mover and a shaker. While she might be moved to dally a bit with a smoking-hot single-dad, she
