Page 10 of Accidental Dad’s Best Friend (Unintentionally Yours #7)

Izzy

“ M ommy, I want the dinosaur PJs not the spaceships.” Jaxon comes out into the living room in his underwear even though I just helped him put on his pajamas. Apparently they were not the ones he wanted.

“I know, baby. But the dino PJs are still wet.” I walk over and scoop him and Bruno, his weighted stegosaurus stuffy, up into my arms.

“But they’re in the dryer. Are they not dry?”

“Not yet, bud.” I frown walking back into the laundry room that is literally larger than the last bedroom I had at our old place.

“Is it broken?”

“No. Your mom just can’t figure it out.” I say, stopping in front of the two very up to date, very high end machines.

“It looks like a spaceship.” Jaxon says, hugging Bruno tighter.

I set him down. Honestly, I think a NASA shuttle would be easier to figure out than this damn thing. There are no less than sixty four buttons on it and settings I didn’t even know a dryer needed. All I need is to put the clothes in and hit GO. Apparently, that’s not an option.

Either way, I am too tired to figure it out tonight. “I’ll tell you what, bud. You wear your spaceship jammies one more night and I will figure this thing out in the morning.”

“Maybe we need to call a repair man. Or a washer and dryer man,” he suggests glumly.

“Or NASA.”

“Yeah, let’s call NASA!”

I smile at the sudden perk in his tone and plant a kiss on his cheek.

“They’d like your PJs.” I say, carrying him back to his room.

It’s been three weeks since we moved in and since then, we have really spruced the place up.

Even though I don’t know how long we will be staying, I have this theory that I learned when I first moved to western Colorado.

A home needs to feel like a home even if it’s only for a short while.

So many people don’t bother to decorate temporary places, which is sad.

It makes you feel untethered and anxious and out of place.

But if you can turn any space you live in into a nest, you find peace. Belonging. Even joy.

I find this to be especially true as a single parent of a small child.

Jaxon needs to feel secure. So, we have turned his room into a Jurassic world.

Five-year-old friendly, of course. I bought peel-and-stick dino cutouts with huge googly eyes for the walls, along with a fun velcro play mat with felt dinosaurs that he can rearrange a thousand ways.

Everything from his bedding to his lamp are dino themed and I even repurposed old furniture that we found while thrifting to fit the theme.

Nothing a quart of paint and some new hardware can't fix.

Between that and the leafy reading nook canopy plus some fairy lights and I think we did a bang up job.

“Mom, what’s your favorite kind of dinosaur?” Jaxon asks me sleepily. It’s probably the fiftieth time he’s asked me this but I always answer just the same. I think he likes my answer.

“The pterodactyl.”

“Why?”

I smile down at him as I dress him in his space pajamas again and help him into bed. “Because they can fly. And I wish I could fly.”

Jaxon smiles up at me with heavy eyes. “I wish you could fly too, mommy.”

Tears sting my own eyes as I turn on his sleep music, dim the lights and make my way out of his room.

I pad to the kitchen and pour myself a glass a wine, glancing around the house.

It’s nice. So nice. Too nice. And my heart aches because I know better than to believe in getting attached to anything like this.

The work I am doing for Ethan is just one article.

After that, who knows. I like to think it’ll launch me back into the journalism industry.

But I also know better than to be a dreamer.

The next morning, I wake up to a knock on the door. Jaxon has about fifteen minutes before his alarm goes off and we start the morning chaos of getting ready for school. I make my way to the front door and stop.

What if it’s Ethan? He wouldn’t come here unannounced, would he? I’m not ready for that. It’s not appropriate anyways. I take a quiet step closer, attempting to peek through the hole. But another round of knocking startles me and I nearly fall back.

“Hello?” The voice on the outside is a woman’s and I feel a surge of relief. “New neighbor here. Anyone home?”

I unlock the door and open it. A woman who seems about five years older than me or so with dark curly hair and a business casual outfit is beaming at me, a basket in hand.

“Hello,” I say groggily. “Sorry it took me a minute. I was still in bed.”

“No worries! I am on my way to take my son to school and then to the office but I saw you move in a few weeks ago and wanted to bring you a welcome gift.”

She hands me the basket and inside I find a steaming pile of banana nut muffins. “Wow. These look amazing.”

“Thank you! I made them myself.”

My eyes trail up to her as I try not to drool on the muffins. “You made them? Like this morning?”

“I don’t sleep much,” she waves it off. “So it’s no bother at all. I’m Rosilyn,” she shoots out a hand. I juggle the basket and offer mine.

“Izzy.”

“Izzy.” She parrots the word, studying my face as if to memorize it. “Well Izzy, I best be going. But I live right down the block if you need anything at all.”

“Actually,” I say, nodding my head to the back of the house. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about washers and dryers would you?”

“You mean the ones that came with the house? Took me three months to figure mine out but I think I can help you.”

“Thank god,” I let out, making my way back to the kitchen to set the basket down.

Rosilyn follows. After a lengthy, confusing, but eventually manageable enough explanation (that I would have never in a million years figured out on my own), I’ve absorbed enough instructions to at least do my own laundry.

“Thank you for that,” I say as I walk her back out.

“Any time. Anything you need at all, I’m just down the way.”

As I close the door I let out a decompressive sigh.

I wasn’t expecting to make a friend that fast but I don’t hate it.

I also don’t put too much heart into it.

Again, I know this is temporary. Even if I find another writing job after I've finished with Ethan, I can’t see myself paying for this place on my own.

“Are those cupcakes?” Jaxon’s voice comes from the entry of the hallway.

“Even better. They’re banana muffins.” I say, grabbing two out of the basket.

“Where did they come from?” He asks with wide, hungry eyes and a perfectly lopsided grin.

“A new friend.” I smile back at him. Temporary or not, the thought of it leaves me feeling warm.

“This first paragraph is gold,” Ethan says from across the coffee shop table while looking down at the shared doc on his screen.

We are at the same shop as last time because it’s convenient and I liked their coffee.

But this time we have chosen a spot in the back, away from the morning craziness and the whirring of the steam wand and coffee grinder.

He has his steaming cup of something no doubt boring, lid off. And I have a caramel latte, as usual. Iced, foamy and delicious. I also brought a couple of the muffins from Rosylin. I guess I’m feeling generous this morning.

“Thanks,” I say, handing Ethan a muffin.

“You really hook the reader immediately which is exactly what we need. We want to grab all the attention right out the gate and hold it long enough that they get the truth– raw and unfiltered– before moving on to the next page. Honestly, I’d like it to pack enough of a punch that they don’t move on to the next page.

These muffins are great, by the way. You make them? ”

“No, my neighbor brought them over. When she showed me how to use my washer and dryer.”

“Our secretary brings baked goods into the office once in a while,” he says around a second bite.

“She’s a real wizard in the kitchen. I think her pastries are half the reason I need a gym membership.

Her cinnamon buns will be the death of me.

” He pats his abs and even through his blue, tailored button down I can see the definition.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” I say, looking down at my laptop again.

“Sweetheart, this body is hard to upkeep. Trust me. I’m not young.”

I snort out a laugh at that. “You’re not old either.”

“You don’t think so?” His lips quirk in a half amused smile and for a moment I forget who he is. Who we are.

“No. I also don’t feel like you have anything to worry about. If I even look at pastries, I gain about five pounds. All in the hips too.”

Ethan laughs, a real laugh. “Bullshit. There is nothing wrong with your hips.”

“Tell that to all the guys my age,” I smile, focusing my eyes on my drink but still noticing from my peripheral that he is grinning. It’s making my heart skip and my head spin.

Ethan leans in. “The boys your age don’t know anything. They’re not men.”

I swallow hard and clear my throat. “So you like the first paragraph?”

“I do.” Ethan doesn’t seem bothered by whatever the fuck just happened between us. I am squirming in my seat. I don’t like it. Whatever it is (chemistry? Flirting?) I don’t like it. “Let’s keep going with that tone. You’re doing well.”

“Any criticism?” I ask. “I want to know where your head is at so we don’t have to do a lot of revisions.”

“My head is…not really on work right now.”

My eyes trail up to his and my breath catches in my throat.

“I’m thinking about dinner,” he goes on.

“It’s only breakfast.” My words come out all breath.

“I’m always hungry.” He half shrugs. Then he lets the statement hang in the air for a moment before going on. “Have dinner with me, Izzy.”

I blink. “Like a business dinner?”

“Like a let’s meet at a restaurant and eat food and let the conversation flow dinner.”

I sit up straighter. “That sounds like it’s on the line of breaking the rules.”

“Is it though?” He asks. “If I remember right, and correct me if I am wrong, the main rule was that I need to keep my hands to myself. I haven’t done anything to cross that line.”

Maybe not with his hands. Even our knees haven’t bumped. But the way his eyes keep raking over me, the way his words caress my skin, well. Who needs hands when you can make a woman’s panties wet just by laughing through a boyish grin.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says. “You name the place and the time. That way it doesn’t feel pretentious.

The only thing I ask is that I pick up the tab.

And that there is no talk of business whatsoever.

Call it an incentive dinner. All good employers reward their best workers with a little R&R.

Keeps morale up and creative juices flowing. ”

I don’t know about creativity, but just the way he’s talking right now has some other juices flowing. I cross my legs and hope he doesn’t notice.

“Fine.” I agree. Mostly because I don’t know how much longer I can sit here before bursting into flames.

“Great. You work on that article and then give me a call.” Ethan gets up from the table and grabs his things. Then he winks at me and saunters off.

I don’t know what just happened. This man, a man I have been crushing on hard for the last decade of my life, just went from my arrogant sparring partner to…

charming. I don’t trust charming men. I know better.

But as I look back down at the screen and force my fingers to start typing, I realize that knowing better doesn’t always equate to behaving better.

I am on some thin ice.