Page 5 of The Fake Husband Play (That Steamy Hockey Romance #1)

Chapter

Three

ELLY

“Mama, I can’t find my purple crayons! Not a single one! They’ve all disappeared!” Mimi’s voice carries from her bedroom, followed by the sound of what I can only assume is her entire art supply collection being dumped onto the floor.

I sigh—observing a moment of silence for the thirty minutes I just spent cleaning—before calling back, “Try green, baby. That jade you used on your alligator yesterday was so pretty.”

“No, it has to be purple,” my strong-willed offspring insists. “Purple is the royal color. If Princess Nutria’s dress isn’t purple, no one’s going to believe she’s the king’s long-lost daughter, and the entire comic book will be ruined!”

“Can’t you make green the royal color?”

“Mama, I picked the royal color five pages ago,” Mimi huffs, the righteous indignation in her tone enough to make me smile. “I can’t go back and change it now. I don’t have a magic wand.”

Hard to argue with that .

I don’t have a magic wand, either, kiddo.

If I did, I would magic a better organization system into place because this closet is one ugly old blazer away from being declared a crime scene…

“Okay, hold on, I’ll help you look in a second,” I call back. “I just have to find something to wear to work.”

I shove at the clothes jammed into the coat closet by the front door. Mimi and I share her closet for everyday things, but my dress clothes live here. With the coats. And the rain gear. And Mimi’s old Halloween costumes.

And, apparently, an ancient, bug-eyed mylar frog balloon that’s still partially inflated, though I honestly can’t remember buying the creepy-looking thing.

“Excuse me, sir,” I mutter, pushing the frog to the top shelf as I continue my search for something that doesn’t scream ‘unemployed single mother who was too busy applying for jobs to make it to the laundromat this week.’

I mean, I guess it doesn’t really matter what I wear—my friend, Makena, said the catering client wants us in cocktail uniforms this time—but I can’t show up at a swanky hotel in jeans and a “Will Work for Gumbo” T-shirt.

Though I would.

Work for gumbo.

Hell, at this point, I’d work for toilet paper. We’re down to two rolls, and I can’t add a single thing to the grocery list, not until someone responds to my flurry of resumes. But so far, there’s no sign of reemployment in sight, so every penny has to stretch as far as possible.

Settling on a pair of black faux leather pants and a short-sleeved red blouse, I head for Mimi, only for her to shout just as I reach her doorway, “Never mind, I found it! I’m good at finding things, after all.”

I laugh as I stick my head inside her room. “Of course, you are. When you actually look instead of dumping everything on the floor and yelling at the mess.”

Mimi flashes me a “you do know me, don’t you?” grin from her drawing table. “But colors are easier to find when the crayons are on the floor, Mama.”

I arch a brow as I echo in her same lilting tone, “But they need to go back in the art box when you’re done, okay? Nancy will be here soon, and I don’t want her to know we live like feral animals in a nest of crayons.”

“Okay.” Mimi giggles, that bubbly, infectious laugh that always reminds me of her dad. She inherited Johnny’s artistic talent, too.

Those are the only things my ex has ever given her—we’ve never seen so much as a birthday card, let alone a child support check—but I don’t blame him for bailing anymore.

He was only seventeen when we got pregnant.

If I’d had the luxury of moving to Canada with my parents and skipping out on the terrifying prospect of teen parenthood, maybe I would have, too.

But I’m so glad I didn’t.

Mimi is my little buddy, my sweet, sassy bug, and the most fantastically creative, kind, magical kid in the world. I can’t imagine my life without her.

I never want to, not even when times are tough.

“I can clean up now, actually,” she says, sliding out of her chair. “I got Princess Nutria’s dress done, and I’m too tired to draw a pelican in a raincoat tonight. I have to concentrate really hard for that.”

Fighting a smile, I nod as I observe seriously, “I mean, obviously. You don’t want to jump into drawing a pelican in a raincoat without your wits fully about you.”

Mimi pauses, cocking her head as she narrows her eyes my way. “Sarcasm?”

“Sarcasm,” I say, pressing a hand to my heart as I sigh. “I’m so proud.”

She scrunches up her nose. “More sarcasm?”

“No, I really am proud,” I assure her. “Six is young to be able to understand sarcasm and spot it in conversation. You’re a genius, an artist, and a scholar who deserves pizza as a reward for her many accomplishments at home and abroad.”

“Yay, pizza!” Mimi bounces on her toes across her room, but she’s favoring her left leg again. I see it, even before she stops her celebration to rub at the muscle above her knee.

My stomach drops.

Shit, no.

Not again.

Not now .

“Yeah, so clean up, and I’ll go preheat the oven before I get dressed, okay?” I keep my voice light, casual, even as I watch her wince as she bends to gather the crayons from the carpet.

Because this is what moms of sick kids do. We watch, we take notes, we worry, and we try to act like everything is fine so our kids have no idea how much we worry.

I’ve been concerned since yesterday. Mimi was moving slower after school and said her knee felt “grouchy” twice last night on our way to grab milk for cereal at the corner store.

But she seemed fine this morning, so I’d hoped …

Please don’t let this be the start of a flare, I beg the universe. Please, please, please. Just give us a little bit of luck, just this once.

I still haven’t nailed down all the details on CObrA coverage, but there’s almost certainly going to be a higher co-pay than we’re used to, and money is already stretched thin.

If I don’t find another source of income in the next two months, my meager emergency fund will be gone, the electric bill will be further overdue, and then…

And I’m not going to think about the “and then.”

“And then” can wait until tomorrow, after I’ve had a good night’s sleep and hopefully have a chunk of change in my pocket from tips tonight.

But maybe I should check Mimi’s temperature, just in case…

Before I can head for the bathroom to grab the thermometer, the buzzer sounds, announcing Nancy’s arrival.

“Oh no,” I bleat, flinching as I drag a hand through my unwashed hair. “I’m not even close to ready!”

“Then you’d better hurry and get dressed!” Mimi says, her brown eyes wide. “I’ll get your brush because your hair is a bad mess.”

“Thanks, babes,” I say, torn between loving that she’s so honest and wishing there were a little more sugar-coating going on around here, as I sprint to the intercom, shucking my T-shirt as I go.

“Come on up, Nancy!” I buzz the babysitter in as I shrug into my blouse. “I’m still getting dressed, so just let yourself in. The door’s unlocked.”

“Brush!” Mimi says, appearing beside me with the brush. “Now, give me your dirty clothes, and I’ll put them in the hamper.”

“Thank you, baby,” I say, pausing with the brush still stuck in my tangled hair to wiggle out of my jeans. “You’re the best helper.”

“I know,” she says as she carries my dirty things to the hamper in her room, adding over her shoulder, “Do I still have to clean up the crayons?”

“Yes!” I call back with a laugh as I whip my hair into shape. “If you don’t, you’ll step on them in the middle of the night and grind them into the carpet, and then the landlord will charge us when we move out.”

She heaves a dramatic sigh. “Okay. But I don’t like landlords.”

“Me, either,” I mutter as I dash toward the bathroom. But at least this landlord keeps the elevator in decent repair, so Mimi isn’t struggling up the stairs like at our last space.

I twist my hair into a French knot and secure it with bobby pins, sweep on some lipstick and mascara, and am about to call it good when Mimi says from the door, “You need blush, too. You’re not pink enough yet. You gotta be pinker when you go out at night.”

Grinning at her in the mirror, I reach for my pot of creamy blush. “Oh yeah? A girl’s gotta be extra pink at night?”

Mimi rolls her eyes. “Obviously. How else is your face going to show up in the dark? It’s harder to see colors in the dark.”

“So young, but so wise,” I say, nodding as I swipe mauve onto the apples of my cheeks.

“Sarcasm!” Mimi shouts .

“No. Serious!” I shout back, making her laugh. “You are wise! And right!”

“Hey, you two, sounds like you’re having fun in here without me,” Nancy calls from the entryway.

“Yay! Nancy!” Mimi dashes away to greet her favorite babysitter.

At twenty-one, Nancy’s only two years younger than I am, but she seems so much younger.

College girl life is very different than single mom girl life…

But she’s a sweetheart and a nursing student, which makes me feel so much better about leaving Mimi with her.

I trust that Nancy will know what to do in the case of a juvenile arthritis or a normal little-kid health emergency.

I shoot her a quick text now, asking her to check Mimi’s temperature and keep an eye on her tonight for signs of trouble.

The rest of the instructions I can give in person, but I like to keep health stuff off Mimi’s radar as much as possible.

“Hey Mimi, how are you, sunshine?” Nancy asks, swooping Mimi up for a hug as I hustle into the kitchen. She grins at me over Mimi’s shoulder. “Hey, Elly, you look great! Love that color on you. You’re going to rake in the tips tonight, woman.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Fingers crossed!”

There isn’t time to explain that I’ll be in costume—probably something hideous if past experiences with “cocktail uniforms” have taught me anything. I have to get her filled in on the rest of the “need to know” and get my butt on the road.

“There’s pizza in the freezer,” I say, hopping on one foot toward the door as I slide on a black pump.

“I didn’t have time to preheat the oven, but it’s working again, you just have to push the nob in really hard.

There’s also a cucumber in there for your health, and maybe an orange? Not sure about that, though.”

“It’s okay, I brought a bunch of apples in my purse,” Nancy says. “Jared and I went apple picking last weekend when we were visiting his parents in Missouri.”

“Aw, how fun,” I say, shoving on the other heel. “I want to hear all about your visit when I get home. Did you have a good time? Were his parents nice?”

“They were so sweet!” Nancy says as Mimi waves.

“Bye, Mama, bring me fancy napkins if they have any,” she calls, blowing me a kiss.

“Will do!” I promise, loving that my kid is the kind who gets excited about something as simple as a shiny cocktail napkin. “Have a great night, you two. I’ll be back before midnight.”

Or so I think.

I have no idea, at the time, that Fate has other plans…