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Ladybug .

I can’t get it out of my head.

He calls Harper ladybug , and it’s just about the sweetest thing in the world.

It’s also what my father calls me .

I’m certainly not a chef, but macaroni and cheese with hot dogs cut up in it doesn’t seem like a nutritionally sound meal. But my world-famous chicken fajitas? Now that’s nutritious and delicious.

I stay a little later to work on the paperwork I keep putting off, and then I hit the grocery store before punching in Travis’s address and heading in that direction. As it turns out, his house is less than a mile from Mandy’s apartment, so if I partake in any beverages at Travis’s place tonight, at least I know I can walk home. After all, Harper made the walk not so long ago. If a ten-year-old can do it, so can I.

I text Mandy when I get to Travis’s house to let her know to go ahead and do dinner without me, and she texts back to let me know she’s hanging out with Jaxon again. I’m happy for her, but I also know we need to have that girlfriend chat about moving so fast with a guy she hardly knows.

I don’t mention where I’m going for dinner, and I’m not sure why. I guess because I don’t want to admit that I’m starting to have stronger and stronger feelings for Harper’s father. I shouldn’t be doing this, but on the other hand, it feels okay—I met him before he was a parent of one of our students, so it doesn’t feel like it’s crossing any lines even though I’m only here because his daughter invited me.

He never would have invited me on his own. That much I know.

I steel my nerves for whatever this night might bring, sure it was stupid to accept the invitation, and then I head toward the front door with my grocery bags.

I’m surprised at the modesty of this house, if I’m being honest. Travis seems like the kind of guy who would live beyond his means, and I’m curious what his house will tell me about him.

As it turns out, I learn far more about his daughter than him.

She’s there opening the door for me and ushering me in. She gives me a quick hug, and then I trip over her shoes in the middle of the front hall. She leads me to the kitchen where Travis is wiping down the counters.

“Hey, Hartley,” he greets me, and he seems different here at home. Comfortable. At ease. Like it’s no big deal that I showed up when my heart is racing in my chest and I feel like I’m going to throw up from nerves.

I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s not like I have anyone to impress here, and he already hates me.

Except ever since he walked in on Harper and me singing “Radioactive” earlier today, he hasn’t really seemed like he hates me.

I can’t imagine what changed.

He’s actually being almost…nice. But I know better than to rely on it. I’m sure he’ll do a one-eighty soon enough.

I hear Imagine Dragons playing in the background, and I focus on him for just a beat.

He’s wearing a gray long-sleeve shirt with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows, and my curiosity is piqued when I glance at his tattoos. He has sleeves on both arms, and I spot the number eight-one near the top of his forearm—the same number he wears on the field. I see some words scattered here and there within the intricate designs, and I wonder what the words are or why he decided to tattoo them on his body.

I think about my own tattoo—a mistake I made one spring break trip in college when I thought it would be cool to get a dolphin in the middle of my lower back with my two best friends. They didn’t go through with it, but I was in a separate room and didn’t know that.

Yep, that’s right. A tramp stamp, my one souvenir from my trip to the Bahamas aside from a lot of memory loss and a vow to never drink strawberry daiquiris ever again.

I’ve held true to that pledge, at least.

I set the bags down on the counter. “Ready for your cooking lesson?”

He chuckles. “The kitchen is yours.” He walks around the counter dividing the eating area from the cooking area, and he pulls out a stool and sits. Harper sits in the chair beside him.

I glance around and find a pot and pan waiting for me on the stove and a small selection of utensils sitting on the counter—a spatula, a couple wooden spoons, and measuring cups.

And then I turn back to the two of them, and I narrow my eyes at them. “This is a cooking lesson , not a cooking observation . So get over here and help a girl out. We’ll need some cutting boards to start,” I say, and Travis scrambles to grab them.

“We’ll need knives for slicing. A nice sharp one for me, please, and something kid-friendly for Harper. You’re probably at a level somewhere in between,” I say, and he laughs good-naturedly at my teasing. Are we at the teasing level? I’m not sure, but it seems to come out naturally, and he seems to respond well.

Have we actually…turned a corner here?

We each have our cutting boards, and I start by coring and cleaning the green and red peppers and onions. I show them how to slice, and I give a green pepper to Travis and a red pepper to Harper before I slice the onion myself. All three of us are singing along to “Whatever It Takes” as we work.

I set all the veggies in the pot with a little oil and put the lid on so they can soften, and then I get to work on slicing up the chicken. I talk my way through it like I’m on some cooking show, and both listen and watch with rapt attention.

I season everything, and they wait patiently while it all cooks. They help me gather everything else—the tortillas, the salsa, the sour cream, the guacamole, and the tortilla chips, and I push the goods over and ask them to set the table while I finish up with the hot stuff.

And then it’s time to eat. I put the hot veggies on one side of a serving dish and the chicken on the other, and I bring it to the table where Travis and Harper wait for me.

I show them how I make one of my fajitas, and they each copy my method. I wait for Travis to take the first bite, and his eyes are on me as he chews.

He swallows, and I wait.

“Well?”

“It’s fucking delicious,” he says, and Harper tsks at him while I feel like I’m floating on a cloud at his compliment.

“Oh shit,” he says, and he grabs his wallet out of his pocket and puts a twenty into a jar full of cash sitting on the counter behind me.

“What’s that?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes. “Swear jar.”

I giggle. “Was that Harper’s idea?”

“It’s for her benefit,” he says.

“Ms. Hartley, this is amazing,” she says, and she takes another bite of her fajita.

“That’s high praise. This one’s a tough critic,” Travis says, jutting his thumb toward his daughter, and I laugh as I take my first bite.

Yeah, I do make a mean fajita.

“Well thank you both. I’m glad you’re enjoying them. What are your plans for the rest of the weekend?” I’m trying to deflect the attention from myself, but I’m also curious.

“Reading practice,” Harper says immediately.

I giggle and raise a brow. “Just reading all weekend?”

“I have a few surprises for Harper, but we don’t have anything big planned,” Travis says.

“What surprises?” she asks.

“You’ll see.”

She narrows her eyes at him, but he just shrugs and pretends to zip his lips.

She huffs at him a little for not sharing his secret, and then she turns back to me. “What about you, Ms. Hartley?”

Hm, should I tell her about how I’m just planning to read my steamy books and drink Tito’s by myself while plotting ways to get my ball back from my ex-boyfriend? Probably not. “Nothing special.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” she asks.

“Harper, that’s personal,” Travis scolds.

I shake my head. “I used to, but as it turns out, he wasn’t such a nice guy, so I ended things with him. Now I’m living with Ms. Miller for a little while and figuring out where I want to go next.” I can’t help the way my eyes dart over to Travis as I say it. He looks almost curious, as if he wants to ask why things ended, but he doesn’t.

“You mean…like you’re moving out of town?” Harper asks, and she looks terrified at the thought.

“Oh no, no. Nothing like that. I just can’t stay with Ms. Miller forever, so I’m looking around at different apartments and houses. My parents live nearby, and my sister and her family are close, so I’m pretty attached to this area.”

“Oh, good,” Harper says, obvious relief evident in her sigh.

“What about you two? Is this your permanent residence?” I ask.

Travis shakes his head. “It’s a rental. When I signed with the Aces, my contract was for two years. Until I get a new contract telling me I’ll be here longer, my plan is to just stay right here.”

“Oh,” Harper says, that same terror back in her eyes. “So we might not even be staying here?”

Travis looks uncomfortable for a beat, and I watch as he pulls a coin out of his pocket and starts to flip it into the air before catching it. It’s like he has to keep his hands busy, like maybe it’s something he does when he’s anxious or is having a conversation he doesn’t really want to be having. “It depends what team I land on.”

“I wish we had a pool,” Harper says.

He twists his lips a little. “You know what? I do, too. But there’s the community pool that’s not too far away, and Bella’s family has one we can use.” He looks thoughtful for a beat, like he’s weighing whether to get a house with a pool just because Harper wants one.

I don’t know anything at all about parenting, but he just got her a hot pink phone today, and he said he has more surprises for her, and he went so far as to invite me —his nemesis—to his home to appease her.

There’s such a thing as spoiling, and I’m wondering whether he even realizes he’s doing it.

It’s not my place to say anything, but if he doesn’t set up boundaries now, that little girl is going to be walking all over him later.

Or maybe she already is.

We finish eating, and for dessert I set out a plate of berries with pound cake and cool whip. Harper settles onto the couch with her iPad as I clean up the kitchen and Travis helps me, and we fall into an easy rhythm where we split the cleaning.

“Thanks for the cooking lesson,” he says as he dries the last pot and sets it on the stovetop, the towel still in his hand.

“My pleasure,” I say, and I turn to face him. An awkward beat passes between us, and his eyes flick down to my lips.

I snag my bottom lip between my teeth, and his eyes flick back up to mine. His nostrils flare a little, and I almost think he’s going to lean forward to kiss me.

I want him to kiss me. I want to feel those lips against mine again.

He takes a step toward me, and my God he’s going to do it.

My heart starts to race. My knees knock together a little. My breathing picks up the pace. He takes another step toward me, and then he leans in.

Harper is mere feet away from us, but she wants this, too, clearly. She’s practically pushing the two of us together.

And just when I think he’s going to close that final gap and lay those gorgeous lips on mine, he leans around me to set the towel down.

His elbow brushes against my breast, and even though it’s not intentional, it causes me to jump back a step.

“Sorry,” he rasps, and the way he says it tells me he’s not sorry at all. It tells me he might even want it to happen again, but without all these clothes in the way.

And I’m starting to think I want that to happen, too.

It’s been such a nice evening, and I suddenly feel like I don’t want to overstay. I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to take away from what this night was. Equally, I don’t want him to fuck it up by picking a fight like we always seem to do.

“I, uh…I should go,” I say.

“You don’t have to,” he says. “Harper will go to bed soon, and then…”

He trails off, and I have no idea what and then means.

“Right. And then there won’t be anything left for us to talk about, I guess,” I say quietly, and I regret it immediately after the words leave my mouth.

He nods, and the heat between the two of us seems to extinguish just like that, and in its wake is a chill.

I managed to do exactly what I was trying not to.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” he says.

“Okay, then.” I press my lips together and nod. I’m flustered, and I don’t want him to see that. “Night, Harps,” I call, and I head toward the front door. She rushes over and squeezes my midsection with a tight hug. “See you Monday.” I muss her hair a little.

I glance one more time at Travis, who gives me a look I can’t quite decipher over his daughter’s head, and then I head out with his and then still echoing in my stupid brain.