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This was my dream house.

Even if, objectively, I knew I could never afford one aslargeas this one, it had all the features I loved. The warm white stucco outside, the cool tile within. The abundance of little rugs and runners for slippery dog feet—or toddlers learning to crawl.

Sun poured in through the windows, but the air kept the place cool almost to the point of chilly.

The kitchen sported lots of storage and a fancy range with eight burners, two ovens, and one of those espresso machines that cost almost a grand.

I loved good coffee.

And I missed cooking and baking.

I vowed that by the time Lainey was eating solid food, I would have us in a place with a kitchen.

I made my way out the back door, checking to make sure the gate locked, then turned on the car to cool off as I broke down the stroller and shoved it into the trunk.

“Let’s hope our air is working better today than yesterday,” I told Lainey as I clicked her car seat into the base, then got in myself, letting the cool air dry some of the sweat on my skin.

I liked the warm.

I even liked the humidity sometimes.

But it had been bordering on dangerously hot the past few days.

I’d been working with the owners of the dogs to walk in the off-peak hours of the day, stressing how bad heat stroke was for dogs—which was true—while also being worried about me and Lainey.

And most of the dogs, even energetic Blue, were dragging in the heat, so we took a lot of breaks under trees or in shade. Even, occasionally, dipping into pet stores to walk around in the air conditioning.

It wouldn’t last forever.

The heatwave would break.

Then the walks would be nice again.

Besides, it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the money that was coming in. And, for once, I actually had a little bit leftover at the end of this week. If I took a few extra delivery jobs over the weekend when there were no dog walking clients, I could pad that bottom line even more.

“Oh, brr,” I said as I carried Lainey’s car seat into the room, finding that the room I’d left that had been a bit like a terrarium was now on the frigid side of cold. “Thank goodness someone else is paying that air conditioning bill, right?” I asked Lainey, who I could swear sighed in relief at the sudden coolness.

I set her on the center of the bed to stretch out and cool off as I suppressed a shiver.

Even sitting and watching her stretch her arms and legs, I couldn’t just enjoy the moment.

My mind was shooting all around.

It started out tamely enough—thinking that I was going to need to invest in those bed safety bars soon. She was only three months, but some babies started to roll over early. And since I was not putting her down on that carpet that thousands of people had likely walked across (amongst some other questionable things), the bed was the only place for her to wiggle around that wasn’t her playard.

It wasn’t long, though, before I was suddenly picturing Coast and the effortless ease with which he picked Lainey up, held her, wiggled her, and carried her around. Which suggested experience.

But then he was cursing up a storm and talking to a baby about body shots and what made for the perfect margarita. Which I felt meant he had no children of his own. Because, really, what woman would let her baby’s father talk to it like that? Even if they didn’t understand yet?

Maybe he had nieces and nephews. Or his buddies had babies. He definitely gave off chaotic uncle (or honorary uncle) vibes.

“Ugh,” I grumbled, making Lainey turn her big gray eyes at me. “Why can’t I stop thinking about him, huh?” Her response was to kick her feet and produce an impressive amount of spit bubbles. “You liked him too. Don’t try to pretend that you didn’t. You were all moon-eyed at him.”

“Ooh,” Lainey said, lips in a perfectO.

“My little owl,” I said, running a finger down her plump little cheek. “Ma-ma. Ma-ma,” I tried, knowing it was too soon, but trying to plant that seed early. “Anyway, yeah, that man weaseled his way into our minds, right?”