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18

LIAM

Jessica barely reaches my shoulder, yet she takes up all the room in my loft. All the space in my head lately.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve noticed new things appear one at a time: a few plush throw pillows on the leather couch, a table and a lamp next to the recliner. A potted plant by the big windows. They miraculously started multiplying. Each day, I find something new.

I can’t complain because it’s tasteful in a rustic and modern way, probably what I would’ve picked if I cared.

She does. So much. It’s almost too much.

I don’t deserve it.

As the cake cools, not wanting the conversation to end, I confess, “About becoming the captain, during the game when I laughed at the coach, I’d been put in the penalty box more times than all games combined in my career.”

She lifts her eyebrows.

“Everyone wondered what had gotten into me.” I let out a long breath, not having spoken about this to anyone.

“So you were grouchier than usual?”

“More like out of sorts. Off my game. Sleep deprived.”

“I know the feeling.”

“On Christmas morning, before dawn, the doorman called me downstairs. Said it was important. I thought there had been an attempted break-in. Sometimes fans get too enthusiastic.” I look pointedly at Jessica.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m not a fan.” She winks, popping her dimple.

“Turns out it was my ex. Sort of. Semi-ex if even that. We knew each other for about six hours in total. She basically left the kid on the doorstep with a plastic bag filled with clothes, the crab, and a note. Merry Christmas to me,” I say dryly.

Her jaw lowers. “I’ll say. KJ is the best Christmas present ever.”

I brush my hand down my face, afraid to see what happens when I drop this bomb. “Jessica, I didn’t know I had a kid.”

Her eyes bulge. “Oh. Then he was a surprise gift. Those are the funnest.”

“I called the authorities. Went through all the proper channels.”

“He has your eyes.” Hers soften.

There’s no mistaking that he’s my son, except one thing. “I figured he was quiet and acted out because of the trauma of the whole thing, but?—”

Jessica signs and speaks, “It’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.” I shake my head.

She nods. “If you’re referring to him being partially or potentially fully deaf, yes, it’s going to be all right. More than all right. He’s going to have a great life because he has a great father who is going to help him get the resources he needs to express himself and communicate.”

My stomach clenches. “Jessica, you’ve been in this house for a month now. I’m not a great father.”

She pats my arm. “You will be.”

I angle my head, daring her to defy me.

Stepping fully into my space, which breaks one of our rules, she says, “You’re going to be a great dad because you’re a great hockey player and because KJ is a great kid.”

“He bit you.”

She chuckles. “So did you, yet I’m still here.”

“I did not bite you!”

“With your words.” She takes out a couple of plates and forks.

For some reason, I like that she knows her way around my kitchen, around me.

“For now, maybe it’s better that KJ can’t understand you, gives you time to work on your delivery.”

“Are you suggesting I learn ASL?”

She signs and mouths, Yes .

We take our slices of cake to the living room. I plonk onto the couch and tap my fork against hers. “Thanks for this.”

“Oh, so you do have manners. Bravo. Encore.”

“Ha ha,” I say dryly.

I take a bite of the Bundt and the sweet yet spicy cinnamon flavor hits my tongue with a delightfully light and buttery consistency.

Jessica must be enjoying her piece too because, for a long moment, she’s quiet, totally uncharacteristic of her.

“You said you have trouble sleeping?”

“Ever since I left Cobbiton.”

“And now that you’re back?”

“I’ll be leaving again.”

My shoulders drop a fraction. “Except for when you’re here, the kid insists I stay in the spare bedroom with him. I started on the floor, but now he wants me in the bed, otherwise, he cries.”

“He’s insecure, afraid, not sure what’s going on because your communication is limited.”

“My communication?”

“Yes, you’re his father. Learn how to interact with him. Sign. Be a little nicer.”

I wince, slouching against the couch cushion. “Maybe I was born this way.”

“Send my regrets to your mother.”

I fight against a smile, for all her sunshine and sparkle, Jessica sure can be feisty.

As if picking up on my amusement, she says, “Do you like when I insult you? And I thought the lizard cult was messed up.”

“What?”

Shaking her head, she says, “Never mind.”

“I like it when you—” But my thoughts bottleneck. Perhaps I do need to work on my communication skills. My role as team captain comes to mind. I need to show up better for them … and my family.

In a somewhat playful tone, Jessica says, “Use your words, Liam.”

“I like it when you challenge me.”

“Ah, so there is something you like about me.”

I recall telling her the opposite. At the time, I wished it were true. I bite the inside of my lip and abruptly get to my feet, my cheeks heating as I plod through alphabet soup. “Yes, yes there are. Is.”

“You mean to say there are things you like about me?”

Jessica brings our dishes to the sink. “The Bundt is outstanding if I do say so myself.”

She doesn’t see me from behind, but I nod in agreement. It turns out, Jessica everything is my favorite.

She dips her finger into the extra frosting left in the bowl and takes a lick.

Once more, I grab her wrist. My grip is gentle, a caress like before, but the repeat contact takes us both by surprise.

“Oh, now you’re Mr. Manners and don’t want me eating with my fingers?”

I let out a shaky breath.

Out of the corner of my eye, she dips her other finger into the bowl, swipes a glob of the frosting, and boops it onto my nose then streaks away.

I could’ve stopped it, but did I want to? Making chase, my face dabbed with frosting, I threaten to nuzzle her again. She dashes past the bowl, grabs it, and wearing a mischievous grin, lifts her finger and then takes another lick.

“Hmm. It’s delicious and would be a shame if I … dumped it on your head.”

“You wouldn’t.” She couldn’t reach, but I play along.

“Hmm. If I got it all over your shirt, you’d have to take it off.”

I recall her and Grandma Dolly’s comments about my abs.

“I’m still wearing the apron.” I run my thumbs along the neck strap.

“Baking is a messy job.”

“And if you dump that out, there will be more to clean up.” Which means she’ll have to stay longer. Something spools inside. There’s no denying it. I like it when Jessica is here and it’s not only because she’s great with the kid and a good cook.

It’s her laugh. Her smile. Her smooth curves. The cinnamon, spice, and everything nice scent. The way she clings to positive thinking but calls it straight.

Most of all, the way she makes me feel. But how do I make her feel? She called me a jerk earlier if that says anything. I’m not worthy of a woman like her.

Wiping my face, I grab the baby monitor and say, “I should walk you to your car.”

Jessica’s shoulders drop and she almost loses her grip on the bowl, then slides on her ‘Everything is fine’ mask. “Sure. Let me put away the cake real quick so it doesn’t dry out.”

When we get outside, the night is torn between the winter chill and the pending spring thaw.

Jessica wraps her arms around her chest and stops in front of a compact Nissan that looks like it’s ready to be recycled.

Pulling open the driver’s side door for Jessica, the handle comes off in my fingers, and the interior light flickers long enough for me to glimpse the scattering of clothing, boxes, and other items strewn in the front and back.

“You have to grip it just so.” She takes the rusty metal from me and our hands brush, sending a whoosh of warmth through me once again.

“Did you give a raccoon a ride? Live in here with a bum?” I blurt.

“Just because you’re Mr. Perfect with nary a crumb in your vehicle, doesn’t mean we all have the time or energy to keep our cars immaculate.”

Despite how drawn I feel to her, there’s no denying that we’re the opposite in so many ways.

I grip the window frame of the door because it repeatedly tries to close on Jessica’s legs as she moves to get in.

Before she turns the ignition, she lets out a breath, whether because she’s hoping this jalopy will start or for another reason, I’m not sure.

Voice thick, I say, “I want you to quit.”

She hops to her feet, eyes alight with concern. “Do you not like the daily agenda I make for you with the colorful felt-tip pens or my sticker system? I can do it another way, or not do one at all. I’m here to help so if?—”

Before she works herself into a frenzy, I grip her upper arms and say, “Jessica, I want you to help with the kid. Be the nanny.”

Jaw parting, she looks up at me. “Oh. But that’s not in my job description.”

“You’re great with him.”

“I visited childcare centers earlier. He needs to socialize.”

“What if he bites another kid?” I quell the panic in my voice every time I think about how out of control my life has become. How out of control I feel around Jessica. Like I could pull this woman into my arms. Feel her soft warmth melt against me. Thankfully, the car’s dented door remains between us.

“That’s why he needs interaction, discipline, and structure. When you started playing hockey, did you just fling the stick and puck around?”

“Probably. I was like two.”

“And KJ is three. He’ll be fine. Trust me. I was.” She gazes at her shoes.

I’ve gleaned there’s a lot to her story hidden behind her perpetual smile and bubbly personality. Gently, I ask, “You were what?”

“I turned out fine and so far, KJ has a lot better of a situation. People who care, for starters.”

“Then will you be the nanny?”

“After you just insulted my car?”

“Please, Jessica?”

“Could I wear a Mary Poppins uniform?”

“No.”

“But I have a costume for every occasion.”

“What about the gold disco queen thing you mentioned?” I can’t be sure, but I might be grinning. I forget what it feels like.

“I hardly think that would be suitable for—” She gasps and her hand flies to her mouth. “That sounds like something approaching a compliment.”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

She winks. “But what if we did?”

My chest rises on a long, steadying breath because this woman makes the ground shift beneath me.

“How about you just go away?” I let out a sigh because I don’t really mean it.

She grips the top of her car’s door and stares down at it.

My family would tell me I’ve gone too far. I know this but the more distance I put between myself and people, the less likely I’ll make another mistake—I don’t mean about having the kid. The thing that happened years earlier.

Having somehow recovered from my comment, Jessica bounces on her toes. “I see that little shine in your eyes. We’re not just going to be friends. We’re going to be best friends.”

I ruined my best friend’s life. Took everything from him. Can’t ever let anything like that happen again.

“Let’s just keep things simple.”

She salutes me like I’m a military general. Is she mocking me?

“Is this all some big joke to you?”

Undaunted, she says, “As I said, I have a costume for every occasion.” Then in a lower voice, as if musing, she adds, “I’m always playing a role. Even in that wedding gown. Thought if I created the illusion of the perfect life, someone would want me.”

I’m not emotionally literate enough to know how to reply, but I see a well of sadness or loneliness that I only recognize because I look at it in the mirror every day. But how could this woman who may as well be the Queen of Sunshine possibly feel sad or lonely?

Uncomfortable, I shift back to my point. “Be the kid’s nanny. Sign-on bonus is a new car.”

“All my worldly belongings are in this thing. It’s my life on wheels. I can’t replace it.”

“All of your belongings?”

“Just about. When I left California. I left behind everything, including my record player and speakers. One was broken, so the sound was lopsided.”

“You’re my assistant and paid through the team. As the nanny, I can pay you more.”

“I don’t want your money.”

I want her, but I’m not sure how to say so. “Make an appointment for your car to get detailed.”

“Your truck was in last week.”

“I said your car.”

“I can’t afford that.”

“Also, schedule a tune-up. Actually, forget it. Just go buy a new one. As I said, sign-on bonus.”

“Liam, I can’t afford that,” she repeats.

“You can’t.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“I can.”

She gasps. “You’re not buying me a car.”

“If you don’t, I’ll pick it out and you run the risk of getting a monster truck.”

Jessica’s gaze searches mine for a long moment. The interior light of the car flickers, illuminating the flecks of amber in her brown eyes.

She whispers, “What if I like monster trucks?”

I take her wrist in my hand and press my lips to it. A shiver runs through her. Recalling what she said about cooking blogs, I say, “I hope you get some rest tonight.”

For once, I will because I’ll be dreaming of Jessica, even if the kid kicks me in the ribs.