Page 3 of Someone to Hold

“I ride them. Or used to.”

“Daddy talked about you. He said you were a troublemaker.”

Takes one to know one, but I don’t want to speak ill of the dead. Not to the dead guy’s daughter, anyway.

I smile despite myself. “He wasn’t wrong. Your dad and I had a lot of adventures. Maybe you, your brother, and I will as well.”

She studies me. “Mommy doesn’t like adventures.”

“She doesn’t have to come along then.”

“Come along where?” Molly’s back and still glaring.

She’s using crutches now, though she doesn’t look much more stable than she did with the hopping. But she’s swapped out the wet T-shirt for a red flannel buttoned up all wrong.

She’s a mess but still manages to look like sweetness and sin wrapped up in a soft plaid shirt.

“Seriously, why are you here?”

“I’m here to get the kids to the bus on time.”

Her mouth opens, then closes again. She’s unknowingly flashing glimpses of creamy skin between the gaps in the front of that flannel, but I keep my eyes at eye level. Barely.

I could fix those buttons for her. I’d like to. Maybe brush my knuckles across her collarbone. I bet she’d be the softest thing I’ve ever touched. It’s also the dumbest thought I’ve ever had, and there have been some real winners.

Sure, I noticed Molly that first weekend, even though she was marrying my best friend. It’s hard to ignore a woman like her. But now she’s both more appealing and also more off limits.

“Are you the nanny?” the girl blurts.

“He’s not the nanny,” Molly says through gritted teeth.

“I prefermanny,” I say with a wink.

The girl giggles. Molly doesn’t.

The boy looks horrified. “Grandma said she hired agirl.”

“I’m not a girl,” I say.

“Yeah, we get that.” Molly puts a hand on the boy’s head. “It’s okay, Lukey. I’ll figure this out before you get home from school. Grab your jacket from the kitchen.”

“You need a shirt,” I tell him.

“It’s in the dryer,” he says, voice trembling.

“You’ve only got one shirt?” I tap the watch encircling my wrist. “Because we gotta go, buddy.”

“It’s his Thursday shirt,” the girl explains which makes zero sense to me.

“So wear your Friday shirt.”

His chin starts to quiver.

Shit.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Molly says gently. “Check the dryer. Your Thursday shirt should be good to go. Laurel, get the backpacks and grab your lunches, please.”

She flicks a dismissive gaze in my direction. “Chase, you’ve done plenty. I’ll walk them to the bus stop and?—”