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I raise my eyebrows. “You’ve met her, what, twice?”
“And I saw her face when I came over and started talking to you.”
“That was probably disgust,” I say. “She thinks I’m a player.”
“Shouldshe think that?”
“No.”
“Does she know she shouldn’t think that?”
I stare at the smooth ivory keys, considering. I’ve flirted with Collins at every opportunity since we first met. I’ve made it clear—at least, I hope I’ve made it clear—that I’m in this kid thing for the longhaul. That she can trust and rely on me. But have I told her I have trouble focusing on anything and anyone else when she’s around? That I’ve become abstinent at age twenty-three because touching a woman who isn’t her feels wrong? That I’ve memorized every single outfit she’s worn since she started working for me because I stare at her so often? That the photo on my desk is of me, my siblings, my best friend, and … her?
No, I haven’t shared all—any—of those details. Partly because I’m embarrassed. Mostly because I’m worried I’ll freak her out, affecting our professionalandparenting relationships. I can handle Collins avoiding me at work. But I don’t want to put her in that position. And Ican’thandle missing moments like the ultrasound or discussing the nursery decorations.
“I’m going to take thatvery longpause as a no,” Fran says. “So, I’d start there.”
“We work together, Fran.”
“So? Wouldn’t be the first time it happened. Bridget’s ex got all chummy with a waitress he worked with.”
I lift an eyebrow, and she laughs.
“Okay, yeah, that was a bad example. But my point is, it’s natural—common even—to develop feelings for someone you spend a lot of time around.” Fran straightens, leaning her hip against the side of the piano instead of resting her elbows on it. “Plus, you’ve never struck me as someone worried about breaking a few rules.”
I muster a smile.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Lili appears, one hand holding a cherry-red cocktail and the other stuck in her hair. “One pin was stabbing my skull, so I pulled it out, and the whole braid’sfalling apart now.”
“What an emergency,” I drawl.
Lili glances down at me, eyes narrowing. “You can’t play piano.”
“I’m not playing; I’m sitting.”
“I think I have a mini hair spray in my bag,” Fran says. “I’ll go grab it.”
She disappears through the doorway, and Lili focuses on me.
“You look tired.”
“So do you.”
My sister scowls. “I’m running on four hours of sleep. What’s your excuse?”
“Late night at Proof.”
I don’t want Lili wondering or worrying about me. Staying out all hours partying isn’t behavior she’ll blink twice at. The truth—that I read about Braxton-Hicks contractions and congenital disorders, then stared at the ceiling for a few hours, brainstorming what to send Collins today (whole lot of good that did me)—would elicit a very different reaction.
Sure enough, my sister shakes her head and spins to follow Fran. “Mom’s looking for you,” she calls over one shoulder.
I sigh, stand, and head deeper into the house.
Bash wanders into the living room while I’m staring into the fire. He’s changed into sweatpants and a green hoodie. I’m still wearing my suit even though we got back from Mom and Dad’s over an hour ago.
My brother surveys me for a few seconds. He scratches his jaw, then flops down in the armchair opposite mine, resting his socked feet on the coffee table. “Dude, I’m stuffed.”
I nod in agreement. “Yeah, me too.”