Page 19

Lyla

I ’ve been staring at this press release off and on all day—good with words, she said. Ha! More like good with no words. Err, see? Point proven.

In between, I’m coordinating vendors for our Play It Forward Day, reaching out to sponsors, and researching where we should get our Play It Forward T-shirts this year.

I’m debating between two different styles when Cathy comes in, toting a small child behind her.

“Ly-ly-Lyla,” she sings, and I instinctively grip the edges of my keyboard like it might save me from what’s coming.

“Great news! My sister is in labor with her baby and Carter here is going to spend the day with us.” The pair round the front desk.

Poor Carter has his shirt on backward and his breakfast smeared across one cheek.

But the real reason I feel bad for him is that he has to spend the day with Cathy.

“Congratulations,” I say to Cathy before leaning down to talk to Carter. “You’re going to be a big brother, huh?”

He gives me a solemn nod. “How old are you?” I ask and he struggles to hold up three fingers, needing to use his other hand to get his pinky to cooperate. “No way! I thought you were way older than that, at least thirty-five years old.”

At this, he laughs—a short little giggle that’s like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “I’m just free,” he says, attempting to say ‘three’—and I can’t help but smile.

Cathy leans in. “I didn’t know you were so good with kids, Lyla,” she says conspiratorially.

I shrug. “No better than the average person, I’d guess.”

Cathy laughs like I just finished a stand-up bit. “You’re so modest, Lyla. That’s what I love about you.”

I press my lips together, wanting to tell Cathy to just get on with whatever request she has of me. “Hmm,” is all that comes out.

“I was going to ask Josie to hang with Carter while I run some errands, but you’re so much better with him,” she says even though Josie hasn’t met Carter yet. “Can he hang with you for a bit?”

“Uh, I’m sure Josie would be much more qualified—”

“Nonsense, Lyla! You’re amazing with kids!”

I turn to glance over at my computer, with a zillion tabs open of things I need to accomplish today—half of which are things that Cathy should be doing.

I should put my foot down, tell her I have too much to do, and surely Josie doesn’t have as much on her plate as I do.

Instead, my mouth is forming the words, “Sure, no problem.” No problem ?

! I look at my to-do list and want to laugh, cry, and scream simultaneously, all while Carter pulls several huge dinosaurs out of his backpack.

He presses a button on one of them and it roars—at a very realistic decibel.

Guess I won’t be calling sponsors this morning.

Two hours into the day, I’ve given up on trying to get actual work done and now I’m just searching for dinosaur coloring pages to print out for Carter.

Theoretically, I could have put Bluey on my phone for him to watch while I work, but something about that didn’t feel right to me.

So we’ve played endless dinosaur games, scoured the lunch room for snacks and ran around the gym for a while.

I’m scrolling through a line of Dinosaur Train coloring pages while Carter’s dinosaurs chomp on my shoes when my favorite person in the universe walks in— not . Insanely broad chest, scruff lining his chiseled jaw, teal Dolphins hat, and a swagger that should be illegal.

“Howdy, beautiful,” he says with a tilted smile.

“Howdy? What kind of person actually says ‘ howdy’ ?” I snark—and then, when a roar comes from beneath my desk, I clap my hand over my mouth when I remember Carter—and that I shouldn’t be rude to anyone, especially with him around. Even if they really, really deserve it.

“Sheriff Woody says ‘howdy,’” Carter’s voice comes from below.

Drake’s eyebrows raise. “You got a friend down there?”

“Yeah, Sheriff , I do.” I lower my voice and add, “My boss kindly, er, lent her nephew to me.”

“I see.”

“Sheriff Woody is here?” Carter scrambles from beneath my desk to find Drake hulking over the front desk. He stares, wide-eyed, at Drake’s massive frame. “That’s not Sheriff Woody, Miss Lyla,” he whispers to me.

“You’re right, Carter,” I tell him. “He’s no Sheriff.” I give Drake a look before I pull a coloring page out of the printer and hand it to Carter. “I printed out some dinosaurs for you to color while I try to get some more work done.”

Carter examines the coloring page and then gives it back to me. “That’s not dinosaurs.”

I glance down at the dinosaur birds in a nest and frown. “What do you mean?”

“Those’re terra-sores,” Carter says solemnly.

“Uh . . . ” My gaze moves from the coloring page to Carter and back.

“They’re flying reptiles,” Drake cuts in. “Pterosaurs. They’re technically not dinosaurs. Dinosaurs have legs under their body—pterosaurs are more like winged lizards.”

Carter nods like he’s just met a real paleontologist. I gape like I’ve just met a real nerd. “How in the world—”

Drake shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I’ve got nephews.”

“Right.” I turn back to Carter and my screen—filled with dinosaurs, and apparently, non-dinosaurs, alike.

“What about this coloring page? Are these dinosaurs?” We scroll through together as Carter points out several coloring pages he’d like, with Drake offering his own (admittedly well-informed) commentary on each piece.

After we have a stack of five different coloring pages, Drake says to Carter, “Hey bud why don’t you come with me and we can color in the coolest room in this place while Miss Lyla gets her boring work done?

” He really sells the boring part—even I believe him.

Carter nods as if he knows just how lame my to-do list is.

I sigh, not wanting to feel indebted to Drake but also really grateful to be able to get a little bit of work in before Cathy returns—whenever that might be. I mouth thank you to Drake as Carter scurries around the desk to Drake’s side, evidently won over by Drake’s immense dinosaur knowledge.

As I watch them walk down the hall, my heart squeezes when Carter reaches a little hand up and takes Drake’s hand. The sight of the two of them walking hand-in-hand, discussing dinosaurs as Drake saves my work day, does things to my insides that I’m not yet willing to admit.